


Journal of a Wanderer

by Neriad13



Category: Elder Scrolls, Elder Scrolls III: Morrowind
Genre: Abandoned Work - Unfinished and Discontinued, Crisis of Faith, Diary/Journal, Drama, Gen, Thieves Guild
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-12
Updated: 2020-12-12
Packaged: 2021-03-10 22:34:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 29,719
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28034730
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Neriad13/pseuds/Neriad13
Summary: A notorious thief is shipped off to Vvardenfell and must get her bearings in a strange land. Which, predictably, means going right back to what landed her in prison in the first place.Until it doesn't.





	Journal of a Wanderer

**Author's Note:**

> This is a really old work from 2012 that I have no intention of returning to. But, as I found it to still be an enjoyable read and have many pleasant memories attached to it, have at it. 
> 
> The main character was one I was playing as, with strict roleplaying rules, as I chronicled her journey.

**16th Last Seed, Arrille’s Tradehouse, Seyda Neen, Vvardenfell**

I feel sick. Nothing I eat here seems to sit right with me and the alcohol probably didn’t help either, though it did feel good going down and it had been a long time since I’d had a fire brewing in my belly.

But more importantly, I feel sick at heart, cut loose and lost in a foreign wilderness, with no home to go back to. I haven’t the faintest idea of what I’m going to do. I don’t know a thing about Morrowind, my pockets are empty and the thick stench of the swamp soaks into everything here.

Though I wouldn’t turn around for the world. No, I think I’ve caused quite enough trouble in Cyrodiil to last for several human lifetimes. Truthfully, I breathed a sigh of relief when the barred prison carriage passed the border, leaving the people who’d have reason to poison me in my sleep far behind the comfortable confines of the Imperial seat’s limit.

But the niggling question still remains – now that I’m free to begin anew…what should I do? I have no connections, no friends, next to no money (the Census and Excise Office handed me a pittance to get me to a city called Balmora). I’ve been handed a package to deliver to a man I’ve never met in my life and told to obey him “as I would the Emperor Himself.” Which is funny, as I have a bad history concerning the Emperor’s laws. And, for that matter, keeping my nose out of things in which they probably shouldn’t be in the first place. Of course I had to read the damn package first – though it was all in code and I couldn’t make heads nor tails out of it – and only then read the accompanying note threatening and warning me off from doing so. That has certainly done nothing for my stomach issues.

I don’t think I’ve gotten used to the feeling of being on dry land again. I can still feel the boards of the ship heaving on the dark sea beneath me, still feel the dankness of the hold pressing in around me. The scent of body odor and my own seasick vomit still wafts up to my nose from time to time. It could be my imagination or it might just be the clinging odors of my old, threadbare, too-much-traveled clothes, stuffed in a bag at my feet. I probably ought to find a place to dispose of them before someone complains. I know that Altmer who owns the place wasn’t too pleased to see me walking through the door in them.

**17th Last Seed, Seyda Neen, Vvardenfell**

I’m such an idiot. You’d think after everything I’d been through, that I’d be able to possibly, maybe, improbably learn something from my mistakes. Apparently that’s not the case. Thinking to build up a little capitol before departing this dung-hole, I decided to do a little freelance thieving. It had been so long since I’d snuck about with sticky fingers. It was exhilarating. I passed in and out of houses like a ghost, stuffing valuables down my shirt, popping locks with ease. I hadn’t had a bad haul either – the lighthouse keeper’s chest had yielded a lovely steel dagger and as it turns out, a snivelly little local elf had an extremely well-stocked booze cupboard. But I had to have more. I had to try out the biggest houses in town, though guards patrolled directly in front of them. I’d gotten drunk with my success. I pushed myself harder and harder, confident in my skills, overjoyed to be working at them again. I was caught fiddling with a lock. The guard demanded my stolen goods. I clutched my new dagger and the precious haul of booze. I was certain I could outrun him. I’d done this a thousand times, after all. I’d come through so much worse than this before.

I ran for it – and the guard’s sword slashed my ribcage before I could even gallop five steps. I’ve gotten horribly rusty and weak. Incarceration does that to a person. My confidence was so foolish.

The lady who lives across the street helped me out – patched me up and fed me some strange bitter-sweetish sort of porridge (I shall not ask). I couldn’t pay her enough for her services, though I gave her my entire supply of money. It’ll just have to be an outstanding debt, my first, but probably not my last, seeing as how things are going.

And now I’m really in trouble. All I have are the bloodstained clothes on my back and the package for the man named Caius Cosades. I’m a thousand times worse off than I was before and sick to my empty stomach. I don’t even have the money for a stilt-strider to Balmora anymore.

There’s only one thing I can do now, now that I’ve been pushed off the ledge and have hit the rocky shoals at full force, unarmed and lacking even the rudimentary tools of my trade.

Thieve some more.

**18th Last Seed, Seyda Neen, Vvardenfell**

I feel quite a bit better now. I spent a fairly comfortable night in a local, thankfully absent fisherman’s shack, sleeping in his gently swaying hammock. I made a hearty dinner out of his food supplies and did the same for breakfast. Sure, eating mysterious dried meats and eggs with the oddest texture I’ve ever seen hasn’t done much for my stomach issues, but it did fill me up, which is the main issue here. I still have enough food for a day or two to spare as well. What I’ll be eating afterwards remains to be seen.

I cleaned the place out entirely too, though I felt badly about stripping the man’s little makeshift table of even his knife and fork. I want to sell every little thing that I possibly can. Maybe if I just keep stealing old bottles and plates and crude flatware, the combined weight of their tiny worth will buy me a ticket out of this hole.

**18th Last Seed, Balmora, South Wall Cornerclub**

Today was a great day – better by far than any day I’ve had since arriving in Morrowind, not to mention the best continuous bit of luck I’ve had in years. I managed to convince the Altmer to buy my mound of junk for a price far greater than its measly worth and toss in a fairly respectable robe to wear into the city to replace my soiled shirt. I ended up with eighty septims total, more than enough to pay off my debt and buy a ride to Balmora. I thumbed my nose at the pit called Seyda Neen and tossed my trash on the ground before hopping onto the town stilt strider. Divines bless me to never return.

The ride to Balmora was much more pleasant than I’d expected. The height of the beast made me nervous at first and the sight of its exposed organs was a little off-putting, but I soon began enjoying the ride. The air was fresher up here and I could lay back, relax and enjoy the view. I saw a bit of the countryside – I traveled through rolling green hills, saw fields of flowers, smiled at minute villages tucked into the grass. The swamp was far behind by the time I pulled into Balmora. It was a surprisingly short ride and I was a little disappointed when the caravaneer poked his massive steed into position at the platform and bade me step out.

It was also raining when I arrived and I was none too pleased at that. But it soon stopped after I did a bit of wandering and the day became as sunny as ever. After a bit of asking around, I located the South Wall Cornerclub to which I had been directed. I chatted a bit with its inhabitants, bought a new set of lockpicks and probes, as well as a few good throwing knives (Divines forbid I shall ever have to use them).

At one point I ran into a Khajiit named Habasi Sugar-Lips. Purring, she noted my purchases and asked if I’d like to join the Thieves’ Guild. I was taken aback – and then honored. I accepted her offer on the spot, gratified to have steady work at last and a definite place in the world. She gave me a job right away and my fingers couldn’t say no.

I was to steal a diamond from an alchemist, a prim, prissy Altmer on the rich side of town. She eyed me disdainfully as I stepped into her shop and took note of the jewels sitting beside her. Those ones plainly weren’t going anywhere, not unless I was prepared to run away with them. And that wasn’t an option, given what had happened last time I’d tried that. The shop’s guard was eyeing me as well, with a certain amount of bored hunger in his eyes.

I tried a different tactic. Beside the alchemist’s bed there was a small chest. Trying to be as still and quiet as possible, I popped the lock. The guard noticed and came bounding after me. Cowering, I hastily shoved my pick into my satchel and made the most innocent face I had.

He didn’t buy it and held out his hand for my fine. Sighing, I handed the money over and let him rifle through my things. When he was satisfied, he turned his back and headed back to his post.

That was when I struck – plunging my hand into the chest when no one was looking and scooping its contents into my bag without a sound. I was sweating profusely. My breathing seemed far too heavy to not be suspicious. But I held it together, walking slowly, calmly from the shop, my visage a picture of serenity. It took everything I had to not run once I’d made it outside. But once I put a little distance between myself and the shop, I laughed aloud and sped back home to the cornerclub with my prize in tow.

I’d gone above and beyond – not merely stolen a diamond, but three. Sugar-Lips accepted one of them, purring, paying me with an invisibility potion before advancing me to the guild rank of “Wet-Behind-the-Ears,” which, strangely enough, is quite preferable to being called “Toad” all the time.

I sold the rest of my bounty and felt fat and rich. The cornerclub’s bed was cushy and soft and I felt myself sinking into it. I knocked back a celebratory bottle of sujamma and then opened my bag to enjoy a filling dinner, only to discover that the jerk had taken all my ill-gotten food supplies.

So, I ended up with a small dinner of bread but a large sense of satisfaction. I’ll definitely get some rest tonight and go on a shopping spree tomorrow. Perhaps I’ll finally be able to score some armor.

Because it’s a definite possibility that I’ll be needing it for my next job. I’m to pickpocket a key from a Hlaalu retainer and know for certain that my fingers aren’t as nimble as they once were.

And still, as I drift off to sleep in the best spot I’ve been in so far, the issue of Cosades nags at me. I know exactly where he lives now. It’s right down the street from my Thieves’ Guild home. I wonder if I’ve passed him on the road. If he knows that I’m meant to be coming. If I can trust him at all.

Like it or not, he’s bound up with my release from the Imperial Prison and I have him, if no one else, to thank for the end of my incarceration. I have so many questions that he might be able to answer, that I’ve been trying to forget with all my might, to shove under a pile of rubble like I’d never seen them. I don’t want to be a part of something big. All I want to do is live and breathe free air. Is that so much to ask?

I’d better stop before I break down any more. I’ve got guild friends to impress, after all. I’ll think about it tomorrow. It’ll all happen tomorrow. Tonight is for drink and cheer.

**19th Last Seed, Balmora, South Wall Cornerclub**

I killed a man today. It wouldn’t be the first time that I’ve done that. That was what made my life into such a mess to begin with, after all. One would think that after making mistakes, that I’d learn from them, but, as always, it never seems to be the case. My skull’s too hard and my mind’s too thick. A century of life experience hardens a person to learning. Time passes and I begin to think that I’ve seen everything there is to see.

But there’s always more time. That’s the way it is with elves – we hardly ever run out of second chances. I can’t even remember how many times I’ve realized something and been born anew. If I try, if I keep my mind open, maybe, just maybe the Divines can find it in themselves to forgive me.

Though I highly doubt it, seeing what I did next.

His name was Ondres Nerano. He was friendly enough, from what I could tell in the brief period during which I knew him. Smart, too. He didn’t like the feel of my hand in his pocket. He lashed out at me with his fists, raining down blows on my new chitin armor. He called for guards and I panicked, striking at him with the tanto that I’d swiped from the cornerclub across the street. It was over before I’d realized what I’d done. He wasn’t armed and wore no protection. My blade cleaved so swiftly through his sunken chest. He bled to death at my feet and I must admit that the sight gave me a tiny tinge of sick pleasure, of cruel triumph. I pulled his precious key from his cold pocket, peeled a few valuable pieces of jewelry from his corpse and went on my way. The guards outside never heard his screams and no one came to help him in his empty, drafty house.

Sugar-Lips was none too pleased with me and refused to pay me for my efforts. I understood where she was coming from – death is bad business all around. She also sent me away on my next job, in a fishing village to the southwest of the city. I feel like I’m being exiled, punished for what I’ve done. Or perhaps sent away until the scandal dies down.

But I must admit that I’m afraid to leave the civilized areas. I don’t know what’s out there in the wilderness. Alleyways and dusty attics are my stock in trade. I’ve never liked being on the road for too long and know nothing about what sort of beasts or bandits I’ll meet out there.

At any rate, I’ll finish selling my haul, pack for the journey tomorrow and head out as soon as I can. I’ve got more than enough funds, after returning to Nerano Manor and shamelessly stripping the place bare. The owner I buried beneath a few loose floor tiles of his own main hall. With luck, it’ll be a while before he’s discovered. Or I’m implicated in his murder.

**20th Last Seed, Hla Oad**

I’ve procured some excellent accommodations for myself in this wretched, swampy place. I’ve filled my belly with stolen food and am languidly reclining on my brand new hammock. The filthy water below can’t touch me and if this cabin’s owner is gone for a while, I believe that I can make myself at home here for quite some time.

But though I feel well, had an uneventful journey and find the accommodations more comfortable than I’ve expected, the truth of the matter is that I’m in it pretty deep. Or will be the moment I act. Upon arrival, I was informed by a local that this is Cammona Tong territory. I don’t know much about Vvardenfell politics yet, but what I was told back in Balmora was that they’re the rivals of the Thieves’ Guild – and more bloodthirsty than their Imperial counterpart. Hla Oad is a village of smugglers and thieves and none of them are on my side.

I’ve wisely opted to keep my mouth shut about my affiliations. No one here knows who I am – at least, not yet. The Cammona Tong let me wander about their smugglers’ cave and conduct business with its members. Their smith even put a polish on my blade and sewed up a tear in my armor. But information he could not give me. I slipped him a handful of gold and praised his solid work, only to be rewarded with a blank stare and the revelation that he didn’t know a thing about any stolen Dwemer artifacts.

I searched the cave relentlessly, going through crate after crate of illegally obtained weapons and armor and coming up with nothing. I can only assume that the artifacts I’m supposed to reclaim must be in the locked chest right beside the culprit himself – a flea-bitten khajiit who’d nabbed them from the Thieves’ Guild originally. It’ll be beyond difficult to pull one over on him. The best I can hope to do is pop the lock on the chest, shovel its contents into my bag and teleport right out of there with a scroll I’d bought from the Mages’ Guild before the khajiit slashes me to ribbons.

I get more confident in my plan the more I write about it. Yes, I think it would work. I might even get away without a scratch. I feel like I’ve just taken a swig of sujamma and gotten a burst of courage.

But a sour taste remains in the back of my throat. I saw another aspect of Morrowind culture today that I wasn’t quite prepared to see. Of course I’d known that slavery was legal in the east. It’s an ancestral Dunmer right, or so I’ve been told. They’re needed on the big plantations to keep costs of food growth down. I think my parents might have even kept a slave or two before they moved their business to Cyrodiil, but that was centuries ago and far before my time.

Actually meeting a slave is an entirely different experience. She was nearly skeletal, shaking in the dank chill of the cave and patches of her orange fur were missing. There was an odd shackle made of dark metal, bound around her thin wrist, glimmering of enchantment. Looking at it made the hairs on the back of my neck stand up and my skin crawl.

Her…keeper…offered me a job, to take her to a client in Balmora. I told him that I’d think about it, that I had a bit of business of my own to conduct before accepting another job. Trying to keep my breathing steady, I turned my back on them and gracefully speed-walked back up to the surface. I wished that I hadn’t seen anything. But I don’t think that I can let this one rest. I have to find some way to get her out of there, preferably before I start something bad with the Cammona Tong and seal off the only escape route she might have.

Sure, I’ll take that job – but the goods won’t ever make it to their final destination.

**22nd Last Seed, Ebonheart Docks**

I can’t stop smiling at what I’ve done. I don’t remember being this happy for a long time. It was probably the gold that made me so pleased with myself. I wasn’t expecting payment and a nice surprise like that is always good for boosting self-esteem. But I’d like to think that the reason for my personal pleasure goes beyond material gain. Yesterday, I helped someone - changed a life permanently for the better rather than the worse.

Her name is Rabinna and I’ll never forget her. I stopped in the Hla Oad tradehouse to sell off my pittance of ill-gotten housewares for pocket change and then headed below to conduct a nastier bit of business. Keeping my face straight, I accepted the job I’d been offered, took the shaking khajiit by the wrist and briskly led her above ground. We walked a little ways into the stinking swamp. I could hear her whimpering behind me and struggling to drag her claws through the thick muck that was the ground. When I saw the roofs of the nearby huts vanish in the morning mists, I snapped out of my act and asked her what was the matter.

Stone-faced and tired, resigned to her fate, she told me that she’d been forced to swallow many packets of moonsugar. That was to be the true payment of her master’s debt. Most likely, she’d be killed for them. Bile rose to the back of my throat and an overarching urge to tear her master limb from limb rose in my mind. But that was foolish – I’m no fighter and he’s surrounded by friends. In fact, I think I’d best stay away from the smuggling cave entirely. And clear out of town before he realizes that his delivery has been delayed indefinitely.

Rabinna and I sailed to Ebonheart together, to locate someone she said would help her. A rickety little fishing ship propelled us out of town. We hid belowdecks and I sat in the darkness praying to whoever would listen that no one saw us board the vessel. After a few too many hours of seasickness, we pulled into port and I located the Argonian Mission without too much trouble. By this point Rabinna was suffering much worse than I. I just about had to carry her through the door. And when I’d kicked it open and pulled her in, an Argonian healer gently took her from me and what appeared to be the leader of the place filled my pockets with gold before cheerily sending me on my way.

I stepped out a little dazed but feeling as though I’d just had a long, luxuriant nap next to a warm hearth. The rest of the day was spent touring the city, gawking at the sights and breathing in the fresh sea breeze.

The place is one big Imperial fortress and seat of the Emperor’s power in Vvardenfell. The architecture made me homesick for the paved streets and clean buildings of Imperial City, but on the other land, the large amount of legionnaires patrolling the streets can make a thief incredibly uneasy.

I rented a bed for the night in ‘The Six Fishes,’ the only local inn and had a lovely sleep in the cushy bed, beneath a window that let in the cool night air. I also had a grand time burgling the basement, but that’s beside the point.

And now, here I am. Sitting on the docks, waiting for my ship to pull in, to take me back to business as usual. I love the sound of the waves slapping stone and wonder, if I swim far enough, if the sea can take me back home. There’s no going home now, I know that well enough. But one can dream, in an effort to stave off homesickness.

Today, I sail back to Hla Oad. Today, I steal from right under the Cammona Tong’s hairy nose. Divines preserve me.

**22nd Last Seed, Balmora, South Wall Cornerclub**

It’s over. One way or another, the business is finally concluded and I’m free of it. But it wasn’t easy.

No, it all started in utter failure. I chose wrongly and I paid for it. The chest I’d chosen to pick before making a run for it held nothing Dwemer in the least. Terrified, I grabbed what little it did have and vanished in a burst of light. It felt terrible – like I was being torn apart and then forcibly shoved back together. I arrived with a heavy thud in the courtyard of Moonmoth Fort, my hair in all probability standing on end and my pupils down to pinpricks. I sat there panting for a minute, trying to catch my breath and bearings. I felt so stupid. I’d done it again. But at least no one had died for it this time.

I dragged my hide back down to Balmora, paid to have my bounty removed by the Guild and collapsed on a bar stool, wanting a drink but too light-headed to hold one. I didn’t want to face Sugar-Lips in disgrace again. I made up my mind that I wouldn’t.

After a few deep breaths, I ran down the weathered path beside the Odai and climbed the hill to reach Hla Oad once again. Baring my teeth and kicking down the door, I dove at the second chest, cracking its lock in seconds as the Cammona Tong yelled and dove at me. And there they were – the remnants of a lost civilization that I’d paid so much to find. Saluting them with a smirk, I teleported right out of there before their furious faces. It wasn’t quite so bad the second time around. Perhaps I’d begun to get used to the spell. Or, more likely, I knew that I’d finally accomplished something, spell be damned.

The walk back home was wet and cold, but the rain washed all the swamp muck away. Like a proud child, I held out my goods for Sugar-Lips’ inspection, soaking wet and grinning from ear to ear.

She purred, running her paws over the warm bronze surfaces of the artifacts and handing me some very good lockpicks and probes as payment.

I’m so tired now. The sound of the rain pounding on the roof lulls me to sleep. It’s been a while since I’ve been in this bed, in this room and I find that I have missed it more than I thought. It’s home for now, though it isn’t my sunny room in Cheydinhal.

There’s another job waiting for me, but I think I’ll spend some time taking it easy for now. The contents of the Nerano library are stacked in the corner. I was planning to sell them, but I think I’ll be reading them first. Tomorrow seems as good a day as any to kick back for a little bit.

**23rd Last Seed, Balmora**

I’m ridiculously excited – and nervous too. I can’t seem to stop cracking my knuckles loudly and drawing the ire of any who pass by. That’ll have to stop shortly. I had better be quiet once I get in there. But it seems like such a perfect heist! The stars are aligning for me, or so I can hope. But I mustn’t get too cocky – goodness knows where that can lead.

But, I should backtrack before explaining, just in case, if this is to be my last will and testament. I spent the day comfortably dozing in my bed, nibbling at loaf of bread and reading a few of those “borrowed” books before hauling my hide out to do a little training with Chirranirr. Thoroughly woken up and a bit bored of only reading about places, I thought it best to take a light jog around town. Naturally, my feet led me to Hlaalo Manor, the site of my next job. I wasn’t terribly keen on doing anything just yet. I just wanted a look at it, a casual glance. It wasn’t like I had anything better to do.

I was dismayed to find that it only had one door at ground-level and that it was directly facing the post of a Hlaalu guard. I felt sick at the thought of breaking in that way, if it was indeed the only entrance. But then I took note of the guard tower next door and wondered if it was connected somehow. Brushing past the irate guards inside, I again found myself disappointed. It wasn’t going to be that easy. Nevertheless, I climbed the ladder to the roof and sighing, took in the view of Balmora from above.

Everything looked so neat and orderly, like toys lined up on a shelf. I wondered if the city was really so corrupt as the local rags said. I guess it has to be, to support a guild of thieves. Though it isn’t nearly as bad as Hla Oad. We at least don’t live in filth and trade in flesh.

That was when I saw it. The balcony on the upper level of the manor. The door that led directly into what must be the master chamber. That was when a vein of glee opened up in my heart and the pervasive lethargy that had absorbed me since yesterday dissipated entirely. I could jump it easily, as the buildings are so close, though the drop might be a little far for me. Part of me wanted to jump down there this instant, to get it done now. The part of me that was still rain-soaked said no.

Rubbing my chin, I skipped down the stairs, formulating a plan of attack. On the way home, I made a stop at the Mages’ Guild for a rising force potion and a few vials of invisibility. I’d do it tonight, under cover of darkness.

The wait was agony. I paced a hole in the floor. I tried to read a bit more, but the words swam before my eyes. I buffed a scratch out of my blade, though it hardly needed repairing.

And now it’s almost time. I dangle my legs over the river nervously, watching the sun slowly fall beneath the surface of the horizon, glimmering on the gentle current below. The view is spectacular. The sky blazes with hues of orange and red, dying the streets colors they aren’t typically accustomed to.

It reminds me of something else – something disturbing that I’d read and seen and felt. I was half-asleep when I read it but my weariness-clogged brain took enough of a note. I’d picked up ‘The Cantatas of Vivec’ on a whim out of the pile. I’d thought the book was a load of tripe for the most part. A volume of nothing but wretched lovesick poetry with no drive or purpose. But what do I know of Dunmer verse? I wasn’t born here and I never claimed to be learned on the topic. And then, partway through, I hit a certain segment. It spoke of red rivers and ashen skies, of rocky spires lit by the spirits of the dead.

_How long beneath red-reeking clouds_  
_must flickering watchfires burn?_ the poet demanded, as though calling to me.

_How many lifetimes of labor and lament_  
_will it take to seal this restless tomb?_

I’ve been there. I’ve breathed the ash and trod the bloody earth. In my dreams, perhaps. I didn’t know it at the time. I’m still unsure – the ride to Seyda Neen was nothing else if not a seasick blur. I’ve tried to put it out of my mind, but I swear I can feel the heat of the place on the back of my neck, just thinking about it.

But there isn’t any time for that presently. My pockets lack weight and the stars are out to guide me to my task. Shadow wraps around the close streets of Balmora and my element draws near.

**24th Last Seed, Balmora, South Wall Cornerclub**

It was the cleanest mark I’ve ever done in my life. It all went off without a hitch – well, except for the part where I twisted my ankle something fierce, but that was only well after I’d safely gotten away.

The burglary was too easy. I flew up to the balcony, gingerly prodded the lock open and slipped in. I found the vintage brandy I’d been sent for within minutes. There was a bit of a scare when I opened a door and found a resident of the manor staring right back at me, but she seemed to be too absorbed in her own thoughts to take any notice of me.

I also found a small key on the floor beside the dusty bottle. I have to wonder what it goes to. More treasures stored deeper within the house? At any rate, I found it wise to get out before getting into any more trouble. I’d gotten what I came for and I didn’t want to risk it. Further “cleaning services” will have to take place later on, off of Guild time.

I was filled with weary joy when I stepped outside again and felt the cool night breeze on my brow. The stars gleamed like jewels in a fold of black velvet. Using a scroll I’d bought earlier I took off into them, leaping into the sky, high above town. I soared over building after building, slowly drawing closer to the ground, flying over the unsuspecting heads of the people below. I began to get a little worried when I made it to the river and still found myself fairly high above the ground. I had no idea when the spell was due to wear off and wished that it would let me down before it flickered out.

It happened when I was still midair. I found myself flailing in empty space and then plummeting to earth. I landed on the bridge to the working class side of town with a sickening sound. It was a painful end to a beautiful flight. Though I suppose that it might have been worse. I might’ve miscalculated and landed in the river itself instead.

Grimacing, I limped back home and planted the brandy firmly in Sugar-Lips’ outstretched paws. I was paid one thousand septims for my efforts. It’s the most money I’ve ever seen since arriving here! Most likely I’ll blow it on more training from Chirranirr. And maybe some booze. I feel so much stronger after working with her, working off the pale, thin body that I’d become in the Imperial Prison.

As for my ankle, a good night’s rest seems to have done wonders for it, though it still twinges a little when I put weight on it.

**26th Last Seed, Balmora**

I don’t know what to make of what I’ve seen. It was a strange experience for sure and one I’d hope to not be repeating any time soon. Last night, I’d returned to finish clearing out the Hlaalo Manor. I found the house empty, but for the lone inhabitant that had startled me the other night. Sugar-Lips had told me prior to my mission that the place’s owner had died recently. It looks as though he had no other kin, or at least, no one else to keep watch over his earthly possessions.

Sweeping through the ground floor, I located another bottle of vintage brandy and snapped it up immediately. While I do have a desire to know its flavor and would no doubt relish the feel of its probably spectacular fire sliding down my throat, the thing is too valuable for drinking. It’s probably vinegar by now too. Yes, that’s it.

At any rate, I dug out a few rare herbs from barrels and sacks and found not much else of value in the place. Seeing as my pack was still light, I went to town loading up on housewares. I must’ve made a noise stacking plates because before I knew it, there were pattering footsteps coming down the stairs and an aghast set of eyes on my back. I turned toward her, my face frozen in terror, a stolen bottle of mazte in my hand, halfway into the bag. She started crying. I would’ve run but she was blocking my second-floor escape route.

So I ended up talking to her instead. Her name was Uryne and she’d been Ralen Hlaalo’s servant for years. She didn’t know what she was going to do now that she’d seen his murder. She didn’t have anywhere else to go and the only thing she had was a brief glimpse of the murderer himself.

I don’t know what she expects me to do. Maybe she just wanted someone to talk to, even if it is a thief who comes to strip the walls of her master’s belongings. She didn’t turn me in and she didn’t seem angry. It may be dangerous, but maybe this is the least I can do for her. Or perhaps I should just take her tip and stay away from a red-headed Dunmer with bonemold armor and a Dwemer war axe.

On top of that, I’m to go to Pelagiad for my next job and don’t relish the thought of the journey terribly much. For the moment, I’m content in Balmora. When night falls, I’ve been wandering about, doing a bit of freelance thieving where I can without getting caught. Most of it is of the petty sort – plates and jugs, goblets and spoons. Once in a while I come upon something good. The home of a khajiit named Tsiya yielded a bottle of skooma which I sold to the local khajiit trader for a tidy sum, after handing him a nice bribe to facilitate further business together.

But soon enough, I’ll be off again. Perhaps even tomorrow. We’ll just have to see how good tonight’s haul is.

**27th Last Seed, Balmora**

I had a massive haul of potions last night. They were guarded by a hefty lock and I went through lockpicks trying to free its contents, let me tell you. Not to mention that the chest’s owner, an Altmer sorcerer, was quietly humming and reading a book mere inches from my operation. And now I feel like an apothecary, what with all tonics that I’ve got now. I’ve got a dozen disease-curing balms, half a dozen of every attribute-restoring potion you could ever think of and I hardly know what else. I like to think that I’m coming up in the world – that I’m finally beginning to make something of myself.

Whether it’s anything to be proud of is an entirely different topic.

**28th Last Seed, Balmora, South Wall Cornerclub**

I had a terrifying run-in with the law last night. I’d decided to expand my operation to the local shops and just before I’d popped the lock of a chest in ‘The Razor Hole,’ the guard I’d been so craftily avoiding caught me at it and grabbed me by the collar. Worse still, I’d left all my funds at home and had nothing on me with which to pay the fine.

He threatened me with jail and my blood ran cold. I don’t know what came over me. There was just this icy rage that built up behind my eyebrows in a matter of seconds. I would not be jailed again – and I would not hand over my hard night’s earnings.

Sucking my mouth dry, I hocked up the biggest loogie I’ve ever made in my life and launched it directly into his bone-molded face. He gurgled in rage and swung his sword at me. It sliced into my shoulder, spilling blood down my clothes and dripping onto the floor. Nearly crying, I seized a scroll of Almsivi Intervention that I’d been carrying for days and found myself standing in the courtyard of the local Dunmer temple, spilling blood into the dust of its front hallway moments before the second blow would have fallen.

The bleeding I stopped with a little healing magic that I’d picked up from the Mages’ Guild. But that didn’t fix the light-headedness or the pervasive shivering that stole over me after that. I stumbled home in the dark, having had far more than enough adventure tonight.

I don’t know much about Almsivi and my faith is not terribly strong in any area, but perhaps it is prudent that I should leave a donation at the temple today. Their scroll most probably saved my life and I can’t explain how glad I was to see the curved clay archway of the temple last night.

But if this means that I’m going straight, whoever would think that is most definitely wrong. This only means that ‘The Razor Hole’ is getting robbed tonight – cleared of anything and everything that I can get my hands on. Its punishment will not be light. And besides, I know for certain that I broke the lock on the chest I paid so much to open when the guard grabbed me. So long as no one’s noticed, the work that I started will be finished in no time.

**28th Last Seed, Balmora, South Wall Cornerclub**

My visit to the temple today was unexpectedly interesting. I spent a long time wandering its halls in wonderment and confusion. I’d never seen anyplace like it before. The flickering shadows dancing on the warm earthen walls, the pits of cremated remains, the smooth, round architecture. I was amazed that my ancestors, or people very like my ancestors, at least, had built and used things like these for centuries. And I’d grown up unaware of my entire heredity, a whole country away. I wasn’t afraid of the dead either, though their ashes nearly filled the roof and the air was saturated with the scent charred bone. There was something very comforting about the whole setup, though for the life of me, I couldn’t figure out why that was so.

Ashamed of my ignorance and a little bashful, I examined the shrines in the temple, to saints I knew nothing about. There were bowls for donations, but I didn’t know if it was proper to thank these particular saints for their religion’s life-saving capabilities.

I decided to seek out the help of a priest, or rather, the head priestess of the temple. She was warm and open, smiling broadly and shaking my hand when I approached her. She asked me if I’d like to join the temple. My blood froze and I shrunk back into myself at the question. A cowardly, petty thief couldn’t possibly be a part of that…right?

She didn’t seem offended by my answer. Instead, she just carried on, chatting amicably about her religion, her daily duties, the latest gossip. She pointed me to the Tribunal Shrine and I gladly left a donation there, though I didn’t know what to say in prayer besides a stuttered “T-Thank you.”

And then somehow, it happened. I ended up dumping my entire life story on her. Or at least the bits of it that were closest to the surface of my thoughts. I told her about all my fears and anxieties, how I’d never wanted to be here, how strange everything was to me, all the trouble I’d gone through already since arriving against my will, the mysterious duty I’d felt to track down a murderer though once I found him I’d have no idea what to do with him.

The last bit interested her. I told her all about Uryne and Ralen Hlaalo, conveniently leaving out the part where I’d found out about all this while robbing the dead man’s house. She rubbed her chin and said that Uryne’s description sounded exactly like a man named Thanelen Velas, a member of the Cammona Tong who spends his days drinking at the Council Club just across the river from my own home base.

A chill crept down my spine at her words. I’d had no idea that the Cammona Tong was so close and moreover, that they might have something to do with the murder of a prominent Hlaalu nobleman. It’s bad business to tangle with them all around. The most I thought I could do was continue to lay low and stay out of their way.

But even so, I feel an odd twinge of thieves’ pride at the chance to take the Tong down a peg, no matter how small. And I can’t help but see the image of Uryne, bursting into tears as she walked down the stairs, over and over again in my head.

I’ll have to arm myself. I’ll have to be ready to face him, should it come to blows. I feel an odd amount of excitement about the task, though I’m quaking in my chitin boots as well. I don’t know when I’ll be able to do it – maybe a week from now, maybe a month. Maybe I’ll just end up wussing out in the end. Who can say? But I’ll see if I can’t do something and get out with my life intact.

As for my self-proclaimed mission in The Razor Hole, it seems that I’ve once again talked big and embarrassed myself in an even larger fashion. My anger was still fresh this morning, though it has certainly died down by now and been beaten back by the futility of the effort. The lock I’d attempted to pick was still just as fresh as ever. Whether I’d been seeing things last night or the shop owner was actually clever enough to replace the lock is irrelevant. This isn’t a crime that I could get away with. The place is just far too well-guarded and its locks, too complex. Someday, when I’m a master thief, when I’ve risen above the petty crimes of houseware and fork thievery, I’ll be back for him. It’s all I've got to console myself with for the moment, anyway, to staunch the flow of my stinging shame.

**31st Last Seed, Pelagiad, Half-Way Tavern**

Pelagiad is a beautiful place. It feels so like home – like one of those quiet little farming villages tucked away into the folds of the Cyrodiilian countryside. Like the locals say, if you didn’t know better, you wouldn’t even believe that you’re still in Morrowind. If there weren’t giant mushrooms growing off in the distance, that is.

I had no idea how stifling the air in Balmora was until I made it here. Away from the dust of the busy city, things are so much quieter and fresher. It’s as though I’m on vacation. Though I have been hard at work and making a pretty penny off of it too.

The job that I’d been sent to complete was finished in a matter of hours. I don’t believe that I’ve ever done anything easier. It was all Sugar-Lips’ plan though, so I can’t take credit for thinking it up myself. It was all to free a guild operative who’d been locked up by blowing the cover on his jailer’s illegal activities. With a word, I made an orc quake in her shoes and do whatever I wished. A bit of boot-licking would have been funny, but may have been pushing it.

I’ve decided to stay for a few days longer, until the languid country lifestyle starts to bore me. There’s an excellent inn in town and to my surprise, quite a few guild operatives to be found as well. Everyone is so friendly and open here, though the place is swarming with legionnaires from the nearby fort.

However, most of today I spent in study with a Nord priestess whose name I’m unable to pronounce. I’d made a good amount of coin from my ventures and she knew quite a lot about Restoration. I learned a few more healing spells, how to cure disease, how to restore attributes that had been lost through injury or illness. In the back of my mind, in the midst of my peaceful reverie, I’m silently planning my attack on the murderer in the Council Club. When that Dwemer axe comes my way and he wants my head, I had better know a way to stop the inevitable bleeding.

**2nd Heartfire, Balmora, South Wall Cornerclub**

At long last, I’ve finally made it home. My bed is calling out to me, the Guild Mother’s in a good mood, I’ve got a packload of loot to spare and my friends are glad I made it. Though the way back from Pelagiad was considerably more interesting than the walk there and not in a good way.

I took a nearly-disastrous wrong turn somewhere along the way and sighted the very first Dwemer ruins I’d ever seen in my life. I was amazed. They were unlike anything in this world – towering brass spires, jagged pipes, burnished domes. My jaw hanging agape, I walked along the path gazing upward at them, ignoring the rest of my surroundings. I didn’t notice the sudden change in the density of the air, the burst of heat from the earth beneath me, the sound of the ground rumbling below my feet – or the leathery horde flying straight toward me, until it was too late.

I tried to run but they slashed at my back, knocking me to the ground and cornering me against a volcanic hill. So I fought. Drawing my sad little viperblade, I slashed at them with what little enchantment it had left. My vision growing dim and the blade slipping from my quivering fingers, I recalled the spells I’d learned in Pelagiad and frantically tried to cast them to save my own life.

I couldn’t do it. Again and again I tried and again I failed as the cracked earth drank my spilled blood. And then something caught – a spark bloomed from my fingers and restored my vitality, giving me just enough strength to power through and dispatch the last of them. Panting, my brow streaming sweat, with the winged menaces in a haphazard pile at my feet, I sealed up the last of my wounds and ran at full speed back the way I’d come.

And so I dragged myself through the city gates well after dark, never more glad to smell the stink of my home or trod its filthy pavement.

Sugar-Lips gave me a sizeable payment for my work, pushing my current funds to well over four thousand septims, the best haul I’ve had since arriving. I think that I’ll perhaps invest in some scrolls with it, or better weapons. Maybe it would be prudent to look for a Restoration trainer in the temple. I’m feeling more confident by the day about facing Thanelen Velas. Though thoughts like that could just as easily lead to an axe in the face.

And as Sugar-Lips patted me on the back tonight, purring and offering to share her handful of moonsugar, she set me another task to accomplish, come morning. She says that she’s heard of “a master of security” who lives in the town, who could do a great deal for the security of the South Wall. All she knows is that he’s an Altmer.

In my tired state, I just about burst out laughing in front of her. I’m fairly certain I know exactly who she’s talking about. Funnily enough, I’d met him some weeks ago when I broke into his house, planning to rob the place. Instead, I found myself face to face with Hecarinde, a dapper elf in silken finery who cheerily assured me that he was in the Guild. When I’ve got money to spare, I’ve been popping in on him for lessons in sneaking. I can vouch for his skills – he’s been able to teach me beyond what Chirranirr could, sweet as she is. Not to mention that he’s quite funny and great company.

But I have to wonder at Sugar-Lips’ motives in wanting to secure the cornerclub. Does she feel that we’re danger here, making our headquarters so close to a Cammona Tong hotspot? She acts like a mother hen to all of us here, gathering us under her wings, shielding us from anything particularly dangerous, chiding us for doing wrong. I have to hope that she’s merely being protective and that the danger isn’t growing as I merrily thieve away.

**4th Heartfire, Balmora**

I feel like I’ve graduated – like I’ve passed all the tests and have been let out into the wide world, for better or ill. Habasi has no more jobs for me. The Guild is well at ease now and my services are no longer required in Balmora. She recommended that I try out the branches in Sadrith Mora and Ald’ruhn, that she’d send me her best references to the operatives there.

I have no idea what it’s like out there or which city I’d like to make a move to. For the time being, I’ve decided to just let the decision sit with me as I spend a few quiet days about the city. I’ve found a good teacher in the Mages’ Guild, a rough, brutish Orsimer woman who rants and raves at the drop of a hat, but who has a profound skill in healing. Bit by bit, I’ve been getting her to teach me, though she does complain whenever I ask a question. I’ll probably spend all of today in her presence once again, strengthening my skills and dodging her temper. Somehow, though I can’t understand it, I almost enjoy seeing her rant, especially when it culminates in a book getting thrown across the room. Invariably, her colleagues shake their heads and carry on with their labor while she, somewhat bashfully, rushes over to pick it up herself. She really does have a respect for the knowledge contained within.

But even though I’m content with my lot at the moment, the intel that Sugar-Lips gave me after successfully recruiting Hecarinde is a thin worm of worry wriggling in the back of my mind. In a low voice, she confirmed my suspicions. The Cammona Tong is on the move. She believes that they, led by a man named Sjoring Hard-Heart will strike a blow against the Thieves’ Guild very shortly. I asked if I could help, but she just shook her head. I can’t help but think that she’s protecting me from all this – sending me away to guard me from trouble, like she did when I had a murder charge on my head. Part of me, the bizarre, foreign, quietly-strengthening part that isn’t a coward, does want to stay and do what little amount of fighting I can with the rest of them. But it isn’t to be. I’ll try to slip out before anything happens, like Sugar-Lips has ordered me to. I certainly don’t like to make her displeased.

In other news, this morning I awoke early and found that I couldn’t get back to sleep. After a bout of tossing and turning, I decided to pick up another piece of religious propaganda from Ondres Nerano’s library and see if it couldn’t lull me back to sleep. It was a strange book, rife with foreign phrasing and high concepts. It was meant to draw the distinction between “good daedra” and “bad daedra,” which is quite a load of horse dung where I come from. So far as I’ve been taught, daedra are daedra are daedra and they’re all bad with no exceptions. I’ve never known anything else.

Nevertheless, I kept on reading, my eyelids growing heavy according to plan. And then I hit the section on Azura. It said that she was the “Anticipation of the God-Sorcerer Sotha Sil,” whatever that means. But there was much more to it than that. She is a divine mystery, she is dawn and dusk, she is the progenitor of the Dunmer race, a sort of all-knowing mother figure. For some reason that I can’t explain, it struck a chord with me.

I never had much of a mother – she was more rumors and hearsay than flesh and blood. But I remember the arms of a mother around me in times when I was scared. I feel them even now, whenever I’m in danger or torn over what to do. I feel as though I know her already, though I’d never known much more than a whisper about her.

Ah. And there it is. I believe that I just heard an entire shelf of potions come crashing to the ground. The Orc awakes and it’s time to move.

**5th Heartfire, Balmora, South Wall Cornerclub**

I was passed an odd bit of info by Phane Rielle, one of the guild fences today, as I was selling him a few books that I was done with. He said that Larrius Varro, the Imperial Commander up at Fort Moonmoth had been looking for me and was asking for me by name.

It’s got to have something to do with Pelagiad, or rather what happened in Pelagiad. I might have, maybe, just possibly, improbably, even for me…broken into a Legion guard tower that was situated in the center of the main thoroughfare and stolen an entire garrison’s worth of equipment under the nose of the sole guard on duty. And then sold it all at the local armory. That was probably a bad move, seeing as how every sword is stamped with the Emperor’s insignia.

I think it’s for the best that I avoid this one for quite some time. And if I should see any legionnaires supplementing the local Hlaalu garrison, I should most probably find a building to duck into for a few hours.

On the other hand, I think I’ve made my decision about the location of my upcoming great escape. Last night I read up a bit on the customs of the Telvanni and found out how deeply entrenched slavery is in their part of the province. I wonder if there’s some way to help – some way to undermine them right behind their oblivious backs. If I can save just one more life like Rabinna’s, it’d all be worth it. However, a wizard is a frightening thing to pinch from. I don’t relish stealing from someone with the power to turn people inside-out. But then again, a wizard must have some excellent enchanted pilfer-ables that it would take a skilled hand to pry free.

At any rate, from what I’ve heard, Sadrith Mora is lush and green and Ald’ruhn is a desert. That about seals it for the moment.

**7th Heartfire, Balmora, South Wall Cornerclub**

In the end, despite all my precautions, my careful planning, my days of training, I failed. I couldn’t bring the murderer to justice. I couldn’t help Uryne. When I confronted him, he brushed off my questions as though they were nothing, tossing the blame on a local Argonian with a laugh. He was cruel and haughty towards me, spitting on my shoes as I entered the cornerclub and spewing his hatred for outlanders into the stale air. We got into a heated argument which left him snarling at me and a host of other angry stares on my back.

Forgetting reason, forsaking everything I’d come to depend on, in my rage I struck him first and his friends were on me in an instant. They came so close to killing me within seconds. Filled with regret nearly the moment I let my sword fly, I frantically cast the spell I’d bought at the Mages’ Guild and found myself in a bloody heap in the courtyard of the Dunmer temple. I don’t know how many bones I’ve broken, how much blood I’ve lost or if my nose will ever return to its original shape. Those are questions I’d prefer not to dwell on.

Whimpering, I healed myself until I was well enough to move and knocked on the long-unused door of Hlaalo Manor. Uryne was there in an instant, worry lining her features. We sat in the empty, dusty front hall together and I told her my tale, apologizing again and again that I’d been unable to do a thing at all. She smiled gently and said that it was all right. As the sun slowly dipped below the horizon, we talked, about anything and everything that popped into our heads. She talked a lot about Almsivi and how they’d helped her to get through this tough time. I smiled and nodded, glad to hear that she’d been given even a small modicum of comfort.

When the stars came out, I slipped into the shadows and scurried home. I’ve got to get out of here before the Cammona Tong finds me and does something even worse in retribution. I’ve decided to rise early and take a stilt strider out with the dawn. I wish that I didn’t have to leave under such circumstances, that I didn’t have to run without saying goodbye. But I want no one else implicated in this and no harm to come to anyone who’s helped me.

However, foolhardy as it is, I can’t help but smile at the small way that I did succeed at sticking it to the Cammona Tong. Before confronting Thanelen Velas, I did a bit of creeping in the Council Club’s basement and managed to lift an entire crate of no doubt illegally smuggled Cyrodiilian brandy and carry it right through their front door. Whether they know it or not (and this causes me to laugh aloud, drawing odd looks from my guildmates), they’re funding the escape of the very criminal they’re hunting.

**8th Heartfire, Tel Branora, Sethan’s Tradehouse**

I feel like I’m a world away already and I haven’t even reached my destination yet. The site of a sorceress’ tower is indeed a peculiar place. I don’t think anyone builds with clay, beams or stone here, excepting the small conclave of fishermen in the bay – everything is made from winding vines and bulbous trunks, shaped with who knows what kind of twisted magic. I’m writing from an inn that’s made from the hollowed-out inside of some overgrown plant. It’s all twisting staircases, circular corners and roots that hang down from the ceiling at just the right height for me to bump into repeatedly, much to the quiet amusement of the publican. The floors are quite a culprit as well, seeing as how they’re so ridged and uneven. It’s certainly an interesting place to fritter a night away, though I doubt very much that I would like to spend much time in a place such as this. All the buildings form odd shapes that catch the wind in bizarre ways to make eerie sounds that echo down through the floors. I’m fairly certain that there’s a massive opening in the plant somewhere far above my head which is making a right racket with the wind flying through it. No, I definitely can’t say how well I’ll be sleeping tonight.

But, most happily, I’ve already got a great start on my thieving career in Telvanni lands. Wanting to stretch my legs a bit after the voyage all the way from Vivec, I took to a little exploring in the Tradehouse’s basement. I wasn’t expecting much. I was just in the mood to play with locks and poke at doors. If I actually found something good, well, all the better. I found a glass battleaxe in a set of drawers. It wasn’t even behind a lock or a trap. I just pulled the desk open and there it was, gleaming like an emerald in the dusky half-light. It’s the most valuable thing I’ve found in Morrowind thus far.

And now I have no idea where I’ll even sell the thing. But that’s for the future to worry about. For now, the only thing I can do is see if I can’t get some shut eye as the wind makes ghoulish sounds in warped plant forms that were never meant to exist.

**11th Heartfire Sadrith Mora, Gateway Inn**

I’m beyond glad to have finally made it. And beyond tired, though I just slept the entire night away. The amount of trouble I ended up going through to make it this far was far greater than I’d ever thought it would be – and all because of one winged menace. It had to be one of the stupidest things I’d ever had the luck to get into.

Down I went the steps of Tel Branora that fateful morning, the heaviness of the glass axe in my pack offset by the spring in my step and the whistle on my lips. I’d decided to sell off a little loot at the local trader before boarding my ship. As I headed downwards, already feeling the cool sea breeze drifting in from the docks nearby, it hit me from behind, knocking me to my knees with a cry. The cliff racer. I wrenched my sword free of its sheath and flailed haphazardly at the beast above me. The details of what happened next are where my memory begins to grow foggy. I hit something hard and bronze that clanged with a sound like a falling cooking pot hitting a hard surface. There was movement and shouting and the air was filled with anger. Something hit me with the force of a cow and then I was falling, tumbling head over heels, catching scarce glimpses of the grassy knoll below.

I don’t know how I could have survived it. I don’t remember how I got back to Sethan’s Tradehouse or how many hours had passed before I was awake. When I did wake up, there was a Breton healer with round, rotund features standing over me, a look of intense concentration lining his shiny forehead. I thanked him warmly and paid him for his services, opting not to ask about what exactly he’d done for me. The moment I could stand without feeling nauseous was the moment that I got out of there.

The sea was thankfully calm and the voyage, mundane. We pulled into harbor as the sun was setting and I sped straight into the Gateway to get my paperwork sorted out. Though I didn’t like the notion of being put on anyone’s books, I liked the thought of offending the local garrison any more than necessary even less. And so, I’m official now. My life is signed away, my name is written in squid ink and the whole deal is sealed with the insignia of House Telvanni.

Thanking the Hospitality Magistrate for his time, I dragged myself down to the other side of town, hoping to find a bed to fall into at Dirty Muriel’s Cornerclub, the Thieves’ Guild chapter that will be my new employer. I was sadly disappointed. The cornerclub is one that doesn’t rent beds. However, I did get to meet everyone there, though their faces are all a sleepy blur and one handshake does feel quite like another in the grand scheme of things.

But one personality that does stick out is that of Big Helende. It was her whom Sugar-Lips had referred me to. I’d known her name and that I was to report to her, but I don’t know what it was that I had been expecting. Quite possibly a sizable Nord housewife.

At any rate, I was proven wrong on all accounts when she turned out to be a towering Altmer. She didn’t look the part of a thief at all. She was all grace and charm and delicate posturing in a twig-thin frame. But she greeted me somewhat coldly and told me that there was a recipe that I’d have to steal from an alchemist. Furthermore, she wanted it delivered directly to a client, a task I’ve never had to do myself before. But I suppose that I will have to prove myself to her before she warms up to me. It’s all part of packing up and settling down in a new locale.

I’ve made my home base in the loft of the Gateway Inn, which seems comfortable enough despite its not-entirely organic origin. Its floor is smooth for a building made out of a plant, there aren’t any weird tunnels or nooks in the ceiling and I have my own desk as well as a dresser and a chest. Though I do wish that it had a proper bed rather than hammock. I hope my back won’t grow to protest the fact.

As for the state of the inn itself…I’ll merely say that it’s interesting. It’s an inn typically reserved for tourists, a repository for sparkling personalities and big wallets. It isn’t a place that I can quite feel at home. At least, not yet, not immediately like I did when first entering South Wall. I’m not sure if I could ever get used to living in a site like this.

And then there’s the slaves. I’d been warned beforehand. I knew how it was around here but I don’t think that it’s possible to ever completely prepare yourself for it. The inn is staffed to the rafters (if it had rafters) with scurrying slaves who are constantly carrying beverages and meals back and forth between high-paying guests, identified by the band of darkly gleaming metal bound around their wrists. They look so tired, but at the very least, not starved. Whenever they pass by me I find myself averting my eyes, wishing them gone, trying to choke down the wave of pity I know is just going to come pouring out of my eyes one of these days. I don’t know how people can do this to their fellows. I really don’t.

**13th Heartfire, Sadrith Mora, Gateway Inn**

I’m absolutely furious at Helende, though I can’t ever crack and let her know that. I did the first task she asked of me flawlessly, expediently. I found the recipe within minutes of stepping into the alchemist’s shop and when I stepped out she had no idea that I had taken something. I’d even played the part of the delivery boy for her, handing over my goods to the ungrateful client with a big smile. He told me to get lost the moment the recipe was in his hand. She paid me for the task, of course, but she didn’t have to use me as the public face of the Thieves’ Guild. That’s the last thing I need.

But that isn’t the reason why I’m so angry with her. The first job I could take, seeing as how I’m the greenhorn in this chapter and have yet to prove myself. It was the second job she’d given me that was plain unfair.

There is a client who desires a grandmaster retort, a pricy piece of alchemical equipment that is rarely sold outside small circles of enthusiasts. She’d told me that a certain trader named Berwen was known to own one, if I’d like to get a head start on the project. Nodding enthusiastically, I took the job and headed out.

All day yesterday, I ran about the whole of Sadrith Mora, hunting relentlessly for the trader named Berwen. I poked my head into every nook and corner. I explored every building in the city. I saw bizarre things that I’d never seen before – singing crystals, twisting caverns just beneath the ground, a massive plant with all the shades of an opal. I even tried to fly up to the local Telvanni council member’s quarters, but the potion I’d been using gave out partway and sent me sliding all the way back down in possibly the most embarrassing display I’ve ever put on before high-ranking wizards, of all people.

At the end of the day, as the shops all shut their doors and people turned in for the evening, I stumbled back to the inn, exhausted and defeated. I slumped onto a stool at the bar and was caught by the inn’s resident chattermouth as soon as he sighted me. I believe he was hurting for conversation, as he’d probably already talked out every other person who’s rooming here. I don’t even know what he was going on about. Most of it was gossip about people I’d never heard of before, people he’d met in his exciting travels in his luxuriant trip around the area. Eventually he moved on to the topic of the cheery wood elf shopkeep in Tel Mora, who he’d had so much fun flirting with. And so it all came out. Berwen does not live here, but in Tel Mora. Very funny that Helende didn’t think to mention that. Hilarious, in fact. I feel so stupid now, though I well know that it wasn’t my fault that I’d just gotten here a few days ago and gotten hopelessly turned around. I guess I’ll sail for the island as soon as I get dressed. I’ve delayed long enough as it is. She’ll doubtlessly be pleased as punch when I come back from a simple task three days after the fact.

Truth be told, I haven’t been here long, but I’m beginning to hate Sadrith Mora. My guildmates aren’t as open as they were back in Balmora, all the Telvanni mages are relentlessly unfriendly to strangers, the Mages’ Guild crew don’t seem to be much better, I’m besieged by effervescent tourists whenever I walk down the stairs and slave labor seems to be the order of the day.

I walked through the city’s slave market yesterday. There were a row of people in cages made of pods hanging from a tree, quietly sitting in their prisons, awaiting their turn at being sold. It was right next to the entrance of the Telvanni Council Chamber entrance, entirely unavoidable if one had come to do business with the Telvanni. I put my head down and walked right on by.

I wonder if I could ever become hardened to the plight of slaves in Morrowind – if I could ever forget about them and just go about my daily tasks in peace. It would be an easier state of things, to not care so much when I’m unable to do a thing. To get rid of the burden on my heart that grows heavier whenever I see one of them. I may end up like that someday, a heartless thief with an eye for the shiny and nothing else. But I wonder if I’d still be myself if that were to ever happen.

**14th Heartfire, Sadrith Mora, Gateway Inn**

I retrieved the goods in what was possibly the most creative way I’ve ever endeavored to do so – I bought them. Or rather, I traded for them. It all started with a master mortar and pestle that I’d lifted from an alchemist and had been unable to find a buyer for. The thing was too valuable to sell, if I wanted a fair price for it. I’d decided to haul it along to Tel Mora, to see if I couldn’t find an interested buyer there. And so we came to an agreement – the mortar and pestle for the retort. It’s money I would have liked to have seen in my pocket, but truth be told, the retort was situated in a difficult location and I didn’t relish swiping it while the shopkeeper was inevitably watching. But at least I am glad to have found a use for that mortar and pestle.

However, this doesn’t mean that I let Berwen off without leaving the store with a bit more of her merchandise than she’d planned. I managed to lift quite a fine enchanted blade before departing, though it wasn’t easy.

As it turns out, she had even bigger problems than me when I first arrived there. There was a monster she’d cornered on the second floor, a diseased beast that drove away customers and threatened to sicken anyone who drew near him. I don’t know what I was thinking when I walked up those stairs, my poisoned blade shaking in my unsteady hand. I’d left all my throwing knives in Sadrith Mora, not expecting to end up in a fight.

The second he saw me, he charged. He was pale and thin, missing a great many teeth and was balding in peculiar patterns. He didn’t look like a monster to me – merely a starved, sickly man who could do with a bowl of warm broth and a long bed rest. And then I saw his eyes – red-rimmed, filled with animal rage, not a speck of sanity left in them. Terrified, I struck, jabbing at him frantically, artlessly. He fell as the poison of my blade overwhelmed him, as sickly and weak as he had looked. I covered in sweat by the time it was over. I’d come away with a few scratches and bruises, but I don’t think that I’ve caught whatever it was that he had. I feel well enough and my skin isn’t peeling off as his was.

At any rate, I claimed my illicit reward, made my trade and headed back to the ship. Helende paid me a pittance for the retort, barely a tenth of its worth. I was too tired to bother with her and just accepted it as a gracious underling. As I was walking out the door, she called after me, asking that I hire a wizard from the Mages’ Guild to guard the cornerclub from the Cammona Tong. Grumbling, I made a stop there before heading home and was greeted with just as much disdain as before. In payment for their services, they asked that I get them three pieces of raw ebony, the Emperor’s metal as they damn well know.

I have no idea where I’m supposed to get that around here. Perhaps, if I walk far enough outside of town, I’ll come upon a mine with a dark corridor to hide in while I steal goods from the Emperor himself.

**16th Heartfire, Sadrith Mora, Gateway Inn**

“And what is it that we have learned today children?” I can hear the dull voice of my old schoolteacher intoning in the back of my head. “Don’t thieve from sorcerers.” I grumble aloud, as another lightening bolt of pain shoots down my spine. It wasn’t as intense as the last one, so that must be a good sign. But the mysterious welt on my jaw is still there and now oozing opaque blue fluid, which is in all probability is a bad thing.

Of course I’d needed that final soulgem, hadn’t I? I just had to have the last one on the shelf, though I’d already gotten all the others without detection. Ah, but I’d been confident that I could escape. I had a goodly supply of Almsivi Intervention scrolls, which have always served me well in the past. With just one spell, I’d be whisked away to safety, laughing at having outwitted my unwitting victims.

I hadn’t counted on the paralysis spell. With a twitch of the mage’s fingers, I was frozen in position, unable to scream as the two of them gave me the beating (or rather, frying) of a lifetime.

And though I’m not as physically bad off as I was before, now my pockets are terrifyingly light and I’ve got to pull in a good haul tonight if I wish to keep on paying rent and eating.

As its turns out, the shops and homes of wizards do contain a great many items of considerable value, but should I get caught even once, the price may well end up being my head. It’s daring, dangerous work and I’ll not make the mistake of getting hopelessly greedy again.

**19th Heartfire, Ebonheart, The Six Fishes**

It’s so funny to think that I just up and left for the capitol of Morrowind on the thinnest of whims this morning. But I do feel better for it. Tonight I dine on freshly-baked bread, a Western delicacy that I’d come to gravely miss in Sadrith Mora. Tonight, I’ll sleep in a proper bed, in a building whose walls aren’t alive and whose floors don’t endeavor to trip me up with every step. Today I walked on solid Imperial stone and tomorrow I’ll leave Vvardenfell completely. Or at least, I hope I will.

I’ve heard it said that passage to the mainland is hard to come by, but that there is a wizard who is willing to do it, if only I can find her in the morning. I’m not overly fond of long-distance teleportation. Who can say if I’ll arrive in one piece when I’m flying through the air in millions of particles over hundreds of miles? But if there isn’t any other way, then I suppose that it’s worth bearing it and hoping fervently that I’ll make it there whole.

Gods, I had no idea how badly I’d needed a break. I had no clue how refreshing I’d find the salty sea air or the stench of fish. Helende will probably be furious. But that I can deal with. She knows that I ought to be doing my job, that a definite task was set for me. And now I’m leagues away with the chore left undone and she hasn’t the faintest idea of where I’ve vanished to. It makes me laugh to think about it, but I won’t lie that I quake a little when I remember that I have to return eventually. It’ll have to be with a pack full of ebony, from somewhere. And a purse full of septims.

The last bit won’t be so hard to come by, as far as I can see. Over the days I’ve spent in Telvanni country, I’ve managed to burgle a small array of obscenely valuable items – priceless soulgems filled with the spirits of monsters, the glass axe that’s been sitting in the chest in my room ever since I arrived in Sadrith Mora - but haven’t managed to find a buyer for them. I’ve heard tell that Mournhold is a rich and ritzy city, ripe with opportunity and just maybe, proper clients. Truly, I’d be thoroughly relieved to finally be rid of them, as the longer I hoard illicit items, the more likely it is that their presence will be discovered and reported to the authorities. Money isn’t so easily tracked as objects and I feel much happier with heavier pockets than a weighty pack.

**21st Heartfire, Mournhold, Great Bazaar**

I felt like such a bumpkin when I arrived, clad in my weathered chitin and repeatedly-patched rags, gawking in amazement at everything that moved. I thought everyone was staring at me as I passed by, kicking the dirt of Vvardenfell off my feet.

Worst of all, the place I ended up appearing was none other than the Royal Palace itself. I slipped through crowds of courtiers colored like flowers, clouds of delicate perfume, laughter like chiming bells before I finally made it outside into the fresh air. The sky was gloriously blue and the palace garden boasted strange and wondrous varieties of plants, the likes of which I’d never seen before.

The marketplace was no disappointment either. The shops are astonishingly well-appointed and I made thousands upon thousands of septims in the sale of my wares. Of course, I’ve already spent a great deal of it – an armorsmith I’ve become friendly with was selling a few pieces of glass armor at a good price, which I’d managed to bargain down even further, though it still wasn’t cheap. There’s one glass pauldron that I’d still like to purchase before departing as well, but alas, I lack the funds currently and I’d rather not steal something that I’d be using daily myself. But the pieces I do have are splendid. I can’t stop staring at them in awe, turning them this way and that to see how the light changes their color. It’s like wearing a sheet of emerald or peridot, but much lighter than stone.

The thieving here has proven to be great so far as well – perhaps too good for me, in fact. I did a little exploring last night after the sun had set and found a museum of precious artifacts just across the street. I peeked inside and had a chat with the museum curator, who somehow read my mind and warned me that stealing here would most definitely be a death sentence. Gulping, I nodded and casually had a look around. The item that caught my eye was a piece called “Stendarr’s Hammer” – a massive hunk of enchanted iron that must only be able to be wielded by a god. Its value is almost beyond worth. I wanted it badly. My hands were shaking from the intense desire. But there were too many guards around and the steal would be one of the riskiest ones I’d ever tried. In the end, I threw up my hands and gave up on it. The wizard in the crafters’ hall next door had a perfectly serviceable haul anyway and I netted a good amount of gold last night. Perhaps someday…when my fear doesn’t get the better of me.

But for now, the air is sweet, I’ve a soft patch of grass to sit on and a tree to laze under. The sound of the market lulls me to sleep and my new suit of clothes is silken on my tortured skin.

I wonder how it would be to steal from a goddess. I’ve heard tell that the immortal Lady Almalexia lives here in Mournhold, shut away from the public eye. It would probably be unwise, though it is tempting, if only to say that I’ve taken from Almsivi themselves.

**6th Frost Fall, Mournhold, Godsreach**

I’ve never felt so peaceful before as I have right at this moment. And it’s odd, seeing as how much trouble has befallen me and how little I have. There’s one septim, my entire fortune, in my pocket. I take it out once in a while, flipping it over my fingers playfully, watching it glimmer in the day’s waning light. I don’t have enough to pay for a room tonight and I have no idea what it is that I’ll be eating. Furthermore, all my armor is locked behind an unassailable door, as I lack both lockpicks and funds to rent the room.

But here in the garden, amid the sweet scents and sounds, in the greatest city in Morrowind, I find myself free of worry. My life is my own again after two grueling weeks underground and I’ve never thought freedom so precious or the air so fresh.

It all began with the burglary of a dagger. It had belonged to a dead man, along with quite a bit of gold and a fine set of silverware. I saw its value and wanting it, drew it from its resting place in the night. But the widow was napping nearby – her dreams were disturbed and her sleep, shallow. At the noise of the lock clicking open, she awoke and screamed bloody murder for the theft of the precious heirloom. Afraid, I seized my penultimate Scroll of Almsivi Intervention and vanished in a blast of light. I thought I’d escaped. I landed before Almalexia’s temple and let out a sigh of relief for how close that had been. Chuckling a little, I began to head home, my treasures in tow.

That was when I saw the guard running straight at me. Terror filled my heart and I ran for it, darting into the shadows of the temple, trying to see if I couldn’t find a quieter method of breathing. More guards joined in the chase and I was able to outpace them easily, as their heavy armor clanged and clanked as they raced after me. It was a merry chase and the excitement was curiously invigorating. I thought that I could run forever and they’d never catch me.

And then I realized that I could never escape. The walls of Mournhold loom high above the ground and my only exit out of the city was straight through the palace guard barracks. I was doomed whatever I did, wherever I hid. I was clearly in deep trouble now and would not get off lightly.

My head began to feel light and my vision blurred with tears. I slowed down, falling to my knees in the garden of Almalexia. I could hear the clanging footsteps of the law after me and shook with fear. A gentle breeze swayed the branches of the garden’s trees and brought the scent of flowers to my nose.

Suddenly, I found myself setting my teeth and snarling with rage. If they had to take me, they would get nothing from me – not a septim, not a spoon, not the damn dagger. Seizing the accursed weapon, I thrust it into moist earth, shoveling out a makeshift hole in the garden and hurling my entire haul into it – the mound of gold, the fancy clothes, the silverware and the dagger on top. I tamped it down with my heel, panting heavily, sweat running down my back and spotted a dark form hurtling toward me out of the corner of my eye.

I ran harder than I had all night, charging the gates of the bazaar and hurling myself through them, hoping against hope that I’d run far enough to throw them off the scent of my cache. I saw two figures ahead of me, racing forward with halberds drawn. I felt as though I was falling into a deep pit with an unknown bottom far below. I quaked in terror, remembering all those years in the Imperial Prison, the constant drip of the walls, the skittering of rats over my sleeping toes, the rattle of my own chains, the lusty prisoner in the cell across the hall who sometimes bribed the jailers to move him to my cell, the secret dread of never seeing the sun ever again. I didn’t know if I could survive that once more, if I could bear being locked away. I wanted to flee and keep fleeing, tail between my legs, until the horizon was far behind me. It’s all I’ve ever known how to do.

Sighing, a cool peace coming over me, I closed my eyes, gave up and let myself fall. The walls of the pit rushed by my bewildered eyes and the stench of the dank air flew into my nostrils. I didn’t know where I was going or what would happen and all I had the power to do was trust that I would come through this without breaking my neck on a rocky shore.

Shaking, I put my empty hands up as the shadowed, clanking figures rushed toward me.

I don’t know how long they held me, or where. The High Ordinators questioned me vigorously, asking the same question over and over again with varying degrees of violence. “Where is the Widow Thendas’ dagger?” “Where did you hide it, you filthy s’wit?” When I refused to answer for long enough, one of them socked me in the jaw. It knocked the wind out of me and for a moment I saw stars. But I had enough wits about me to see that in so doing, he had broken the stubborn welt that the Telvanni mages had given me not too long ago and coated his shiny, flawless, blessed gauntlet with opaque blue fluid.

In time, they gave up and I served my sentence of hard labor in the city below the city, mining ebony and adamantium in Old Mournhold. I walked on ancient streets, chained to a group of five or so other prisoners and we mined in the darkness, scarcely remembering what warmth is or knowing when the moons rose.

It was so funny that I should be so close to the very substance that I so needed and be entirely unable to take some of it for myself. But I survived, as I’d trusted that I would. I might say that I began to believe that I was made of sterner stuff than I’d thought, but the truth is that I nearly cried when the jailer unlocked my shackles and handed my personal belongings back to me.

The dagger and the other stolen items were right where I had buried them, undisturbed by the temple gardener. I shook the dirt from the clothes, polished the silverware on my shirt, wiped the dagger on the clean grass and wondered at how so much trouble could possibly come from such a small item. I sold them all today with no difficulty in exchange for the glass pauldron that I’d been wanting. It’s a beautiful as the rest of the pieces and light as a summer’s breeze. It took all my money and left me penniless, but I am nothing if not resourceful.

This is nowhere near as bad as it could be, as I know now and even without a home or means to get one, I am at peace now. There’s always something, somewhere that can help, even if I’m wandering naked in the wilderness with nothing to my name. There’s always help for one who takes it.

Perhaps if I rush, I can make it to the shops before they close and pawn my shoes for a bed tonight. I’ve certainly no shame of running barefoot through the streets of Mournhold.

**8th Frost Fall, Balmora**

It feels so great to be home again, big city stink and dirt and all. But then again, it isn’t the buildings that make a place, but the people living inside them. It was wonderful to meet up with old friends again and tell stories, even sordid ones.

I was glad to find out that Hecarinde’s security measures have done a great deal to dissuade Cammona Tong involvement in Guild activities. There was indeed a strike on the South Wall, but when that hammer swung down from the ceiling and struck a smuggler dead in the face, that was the end of that. It’s never over of course, but it’s that sort of tale that gives a thief hope.

But I haven’t just returned to Balmora for visiting or training with a master of security or selling off the rare, complete set of limeware I’ve stolen to the highest bidder, though I did come here originally to just that. No, in training with Hecarinde, I told him about my problems in the Sadrith Mora branch and he advised that I take a trip to the Caldera Ebony Mine. I may just find the end of my problems there, if I’m careful. I certainly hope so. As the days pass me by, I’m getting more and more frightened of Helsende’s reaction to my long absence. She’ll probably get a huge kick out of finding out that I spent time in jail as well - if she finds out, that is.

**9th Frost Fall, Caldera, Shenk’s Shovel**

And just like that, my work is done. I stole ebony from the Caldera Mining Company entirely without incident, though the place was crawling with Hlaalu guards and the eyes of watchful slaves. I wonder if they’ll even miss it, what with the amount of ore flowing from that place. One can hope.

They’re sitting on the table in my room now, gleaming blueish-purple-black in the flickering light of the candle. I’m immensely glad to have them at last, if only to be able to hock them at the Sadrith Mora Mages’ Guild and get that damn wizard that Helsende wants so badly.

But I think that I discovered a bigger prize today in the course of my exploits. It’s rusty and old and no one in his right mind would pay a septim for it, but for someone else, it means everything in the world. It’s the key to the shackles of the Caldera slaves. I found it as I was rifling through the chests and closets of the mine bunkhouse, as several interesting-looking locks caught my eye and I could not turn down the challenge. I turned to leave and there it was – sitting in plain sight on the dining table, right next to the knives and forks. Looking to see if anyone was about, I swept it into my bag with the rest of the haul and hurried out, not wanting to risk arrest with my precious cache of ebony in tow.

I’ll stay here one more night before returning to Balmora. Tomorrow I’ve got a little freelance thievery to do, as the locals would say, seeing as they regard people as property.

17th Frost Fall, Sadrith Mora

And so, I’m to be heading off again into the unknown. My ship awaits, a morning mist rises from the sea and the cool tide laps at my toes. For the first time ever, I think that I’m happy to be in Sadrith Mora. It’s an odd feeling and one that’s hard to get used to. I was so dreading returning here and now that I’m leaving temporarily for the other side of Vvardenfell, I’m already missing it. But more about that later.

After dragging my feet for days in my old stomping grounds, I finally took a stilt strider and several ships back with my ebony bounty. The sight of the twisted, tortured plant life rising out of the sea in the darkness made me sick to my stomach. I had an uneasy sleep in my familiar hammock in the Gateway and slowly trudged up to Wolverine Hall come morning. The mages were polite enough and praised the purity of the samples I’d brought them.

It was when I darkened the door of Dirty Muriel’s that I got the shock of my life. Helsende was sitting at the bar, eating her breakfast, delicately lifting every grain of saltrice into her mouth as though she were royalty. When she saw me, she dropped her fork and her mouth hung agape in a most unladylike fashion. She’d been deathly worried about me – everyone had. They clustered around me as I stepped in, pressing me for details, information, juicy bits, if there were any. I was thoroughly bewildered. I hadn’t thought that anyone had cared for me here, that I had done anything that mattered.

My weary eyes growing misty, I gave them a weak smile and started talking. There was laughter at my escapades in Mournhold, cheers when I’d buried the goods there, hushed gasps when I’d been caught like a rat in a trap and locked away. I’m sure that Helsende nearly hugged me at that point. I saw her arms move toward me out of the corner of my eye before she sighed and restrained herself.

I went on to recite the news that everyone in Balmora had sent me off with. I talked all about the ebony heist and even, after a few swigs of sujamma, told them about the slaves. They’d all been so grateful, rubbing their wrists once they were free of the shackle and thanking me profusely for their freedom. I’d hauled my heavy hide back to Caldera at about midnight that night, soaked to the bone and freezing, glad beyond words to at last make it into a warm building, but gladder still at what I’d stolen from the mining company.

I was surprised to see glasses being raised to this and drained in toasts. I’m very rarely certain of what someone’s views are on abolition unless I go out and ask, but I was secretly relieved that my loose tongue hadn’t gotten me into trouble this time. Thieving is thieving, as they said and it’s all good.

I spent days just relaxing in Muriel’s, getting to know the people I’d been avoiding, spending the generous bounty I’d earned in robbing an alchemist’s laboratory back in Caldera. An Imperial scout named Fandus, whom I’d always thought looked a little rough around the edges, somehow decided that I needed to know how to defend myself and took it upon himself to teach me.

It was awful. He’d spend hours in the front yard whacking me with a club, yelling at me to keep my shield held high when my arms shook under his blows. It was a pathetic display I made, day after day and I hated myself for it. But in the end, I think that I am better for it. My forearms are still sorer than they’ve ever been and I can’t bend my elbows faster than a rusty door hinge can squeak open, but at least now I have a general idea of how not to use my shield merely as a fashion accessory.

As time passed and my money ran low, Helsende took me aside and presented me with my next task. It was to be in Ald’ruhn, in the manor of a prominent Redoran noble. The item in question was a valuable cookbook, a vital tool in a yearly war waged among chefs. I would sabotage one by stealing her work and give another the edge by delivering it to her. I giggled at the ludicrousness of it – a high-risk mission in dangerous Redoran territory where spears must grow thicker than trees and hunger for the blood of thieves as the desert does for water – all for something entirely silly. I told her I was in.

Perhaps I’ll stay for a bit too. Who knows, the manor might have a host of good loot and I could certainly use the money.

But as I begin to tuck my things away and look back on the warped greenery of Sadrith Mora, I feel homesick already. I’ll be back and soon, I know, no doubt with a tale of some new adventure.

**19th Frost Fall, Ald-ruhn, Ald Skar Inn**

I arrived in the midst of a raging dust storm. It was horrible. I’d never felt anything like it. Whatever I did, no matter how firmly I clamped my hand over my mouth and nose, the sand forced its way down my throat, leaving grit on my teeth and me gasping for air. As I stumbled through the square, it blinded me as well, dying everything all shades of brown and red. Thank goodness the Rat in the Pot was dead ahead of the stilt strider platform. I don’t know if I could have made it otherwise.

I must have knocked several pounds of dirt from my boots all over their front doorstep. But the Ald’ruhn Guild branch didn’t seem to mind terribly. They were all perfectly friendly and greeted me warmly, even as I coughed far too many cups of sand into a handkerchief. They commiserated with me on that. Apparently this type of weather is fairly common here and there isn’t a whole lot a person can do about it but move quickly between buildings. That and learn how to breathe dust, that is.

Aengoth the Jeweler, a sprightly Bosmer who’s a head shorter than me, was particularly nice. He shook my hand kindly, said that he’d heard good things about me and that he’d be looking forward to working with me in the future. I said that I’d like that too and meant it. With people like that around, I think I could weather any type of storm.

After the introductions were over, it was back out into the dirt to find a decent place to stay. I staggered through the door of the first inn I found and slammed my dusty money on the counter. I felt much better after I’d gotten myself cleaned up a bit and a good meal in me.

But I can still hear the wind howling outside and beating on the sturdy walls of the inn. I’ve no desire to go out in it again, though the hour is still early and there’s thieving to be done. For tonight, I’ll see if I can’t wait it out. The air is cool and fresh in here, the company isn’t bad and thankfully, I managed to rip off quite a few books from a mage staying in the inn, so there’s no lack of quiet entertainment.

**20th Frost Fall, Ald’ruhn, Ald Skar Inn**

The sky was blue and clear all day today and it made me so happy. I took deep breaths of the air just because I could, sucking in all the clean flavor of it that my lungs could possibly hold. In fact, I don’t know if I’ve ever seen a sky that deeply blue or smelt air that fresh outside of the countryside. I wonder if it’s an aftereffect of dust storms. Perhaps the clouds of dust rage through an area for a time and when they move on, they take all the grunge of the city with them. It’s an odd idea, but I’ve had odder ones. Or maybe I’m just glad that the storm is over and happy to be able to breathe freely again.

At any rate, my work is finished here and it was damn profitable too. The Llethri Manor was wide and cavernous and filled to the brim with treasure. I had a great deal of fun sneaking around oblivious nobles, helping myself to their booze cabinets, their silken clothing and most especially to some sort of ceremonial Redoran helm of immense value. I think I’ll be making a stopover in Mournhold on the way back to Sadrith Mora to sell it. There’s a friendly smith whom I’ve bribed to look the other way who will most certainly give me a good price for it. That and the broken, scratched-up glass dagger that I swiped a while back but have been unable to sell. I’ve made a pet project out of repairing it recently, slowly working it back to a fine sheen with my limited skills to while away the empty time. I think I’ve finally made something decent out of it and I’m proud of my work. It isn’t every day that I take the time to actually work with my hands at making something beautiful. It’s a good feeling, to know that it was me and no one else who restored something to its former glory.

**21st Frost Fall, Mournhold, The Winged Guar**

The oddest thing happened tonight. I’d arrived in the city just as the market was shutting down, so I decided to spend the night. But my fingers were bored with inactivity, so I chose a house at random to burglarize, to pass the time and fatten my pockets. The family inside greeted me cordially, happy to have a visitor. They told me about their poor daughter, who used to be such a sweet girl before she took to babbling and lost her mind. I commiserated with them sincerely, but thought nothing of it.

At last, I managed to slip away to the basement, where my thieving activity would start, away from too many prying eyes upstairs. The girl spotted me immediately and began shrieking at the top of her lungs that I had to get out, that I couldn’t have it, that none of the thieves could take it from her. It was like a slap across the face or an icy splash of water – how did she know that I had come to rob her? For a moment, I was frightened, but then her parents rushed to her side in an attempt to calm her down.

While they were busy, I set about my task, picking out valuable bottles of brandy from their alcohol cabinet and other choice items. Naturally, I was extremely curious about what she was hiding, but came up with nothing unusual before they caught me pawing through the closet. Things got considerably more dicey then and I was forced to call upon Almsivi once more to pull me out of danger. I puzzled over the situation as I headed back to the inn in the dark. I wouldn’t do well to head back there now, but when I’m next in Mournhold, it is something to continue checking out.

**26th Frost Fall, Sadrith Mora, Gateway Inn**

Tomorrow morning I embark on the riskiest heist of my life. I’m not unafraid. Actually, “I’m terrified” would probably be more like it. Even Helsende was reluctant to give me the job. She was gravely serious as she gave me the details and said that she wouldn’t think less of me if I turned down the job. This I took as a challenge and I hope that I don’t come to regret it. She says that it’s to be my last assignment for her here in Sadrith Mora and she’ll miss my efforts, but Aengoth is eagerly expecting me in Ald’ruhn.

The task is simple, if exceedingly dangerous. I’m to steal a wizard’s staff. The staff of a Telvanni Councilor’s retainer, as it sits beside him, high up in his twisted tower. If I’m discovered, escape routes are few and death is nearly certain. Helsende herself warned me as such.

I’ve spent the past few days arming myself if worse should come to worse. I’ve bought a robe enchanted to guard against magic attacks. I’ve learned new healing and ward spells. I’ve got a pack load of Almsivi and Divine Intervention ready to go. I’m as ready as I’ll ever be and still I quake at the thought of going up there. Whatever happens will happen and I’ll have to accept the consequences.

I’ll think I’ll take a stroll down to the Temple Shrine before I board the ship tomorrow morning. A prayer or two can’t hurt a thing.

**28th Frost Fall, Sadrith Mora, Gateway Inn**

And with that, it’s over. My time in Sadrith Mora is at an end. Last night I grabbed the staff, though sweat was pouring down my face and into my eyes, though my hands shook, though the wizard was standing mere feet from the prize. I did it in the instant that his eyes were averted and keeping my breathing steady and my face calm, I solemnly walked out of there. Through masses of bodyguards and retainers, through the mounds of rotted kwama eggs that squished disgustingly under my feet, through the piles of stinking clutter that the mad Mistress Therana decorates her home with, I left as quietly as I came with a nary a soul the wiser.

It was only once I was on lower ground and in the privacy of the room in the local tradehouse that I finally let loose. I did a silly little dance, of joy, of triumph, of pure relief that my limbs are still attached to my body and that I came away with no appendages oozing odd colors. And then I slept, wanting to sail with the dawn and reach Helsende as soon as possible. It wasn’t a deep sleep mind you, but was colored by varying degrees of anticipation, excitement and nightmares of wizards creeping down the vines in the night to turn me inside out.

When I came up the stairs and Helsende saw me approaching with the staff in hand, she lit up. She said that she hadn’t expected anyone to be able to take the thing and was amazed that I’d actually succeeded. I smiled humbly, not answering. She then offered me a choice, the first and only she had ever given me – keep the staff or hand it over to the Guild. I pondered over it for a moment and then made my decision. I may be able to find a buyer for it myself, but even if I did, there was always a chance that the theft of the thing would be connected to my face ever after. Truth be told, ownership of the staff freaked me out and I wanted no Telvannis after me even if it was only a slim chance. I gave it up, saying that it was a gift to the Guild. Helsende took it gladly, gave me a cut of the money and then, an even more valuable gift.

It was a worn, dirty ring, marked with grime from who knows how many ages past. She pulled it off her own finger and plopped it into my confused palm. As it turns out, the ring is enchanted with telekinesis. No item is safe from my grasp now, even if it’s on the other side of a room.

Everyone came to shake my hand and pat me on the back. Well-wishes were exchanged and goodbyes were said. We all drank a round of flin in celebration of the Guild’s new acquisition, with tall Helsende hefting the staff miles above our heads as whooped and hollered.

It’s late now and I’ve got a bit of a headache, but it’s been a while since I’ve been so thoroughly satiated and yet so filled with bittersweet feelings. I don’t think that I’ll be leaving Sadrith Mora just yet. There’s still a few things around here worth stealing and I’d like to build a little capitol before making another move.

But I wonder how long I can stay out of trouble this time. That last escapade had to have taken up a massive chunk of the luck I was born with and something extraordinarily bad has got to happen to account for the imbalance. I shiver at what it might be, but at the same time I laugh it off as ludicrous superstition. As long as I stay on my toes and use the shadows as my guide, I have to win out in the end.

**4th Sun’s Dusk, Ald’ruhn, Ald Skar Inn**

I had such a grand time tonight. Who would’ve thought that my first night in Ald’ruhn would have proven to be so profitable? Or so fun? I feel like piling every single thing I’ve stolen tonight on my bed and rolling around in it in ecstasy, though considering that a fair bit of it is enchanted blades and alchemical reagents of a more volatile nature, perhaps not.

I rode in via stilt-strider this afternoon, after doing a little freelance thieving along the way and making a stop in Caldera to train with an adept Khajiit sneak. After I’d gotten myself settled in the inn, I headed over to the Rat in the Pot to greet Aengoth and possibly start work here. He took me aside and in hushed tones, told me about a great opportunity, this night only. He said that he had it on good authority that the mages of the local guild were off at some sort of conference tonight, leaving their wares unguarded and the building entirely empty. There was a certain enchanted tanto that he’d had his eyes on for some time and if I went that way, might I grab it for him? Grinning, I agreed and we shook hands heartily before parting.

As it turns out, the building was not entirely empty as he’d told me and I nearly had a bad situation with an angry mage on my hands. Again, it was pure luck that saved my neck - that and how quick I was on the draw. I saw him casting a paralysis spell and faster than I’d ever cast before, I used Almsivi Intervention to pull me out of there straight away.

For a second, I was furious, as I landed in an ungainly heap in the local temple courtyard. Aengoth’s intel was utter crap. Did he have something against me that I didn’t know about? Was he purposefully trying to get me killed? At least I’d been wearing my mask helm at the time, so the mage couldn’t have recognized me on the street.

A few minutes passed and I began to cool down. I stood up, dusted myself off and remembered that there was something inherently trustworthy in Aengoth’s character. We’d hit it off so well when we’d first met. He’d accepted me into the branch with open arms, as though I was already family. I was ashamed that I’d doubted him for a moment, set my teeth and tried again.

I walked right back up to that door again, took a swig of an invisibility potion that Helsende had given me as payment for a task and stepped right through. The mage’s ears twitched at the sound of the door opening, but he didn’t move, his nose thoroughly buried in a book at that point and a late supper in hand. Hardly daring to breathe, I crept past him and made it successfully to the inner sanctum.

Aengoth had not been wrong. Aside from the lone guard, the place was devoid of life. I set about my work with glee. I popped every lock, robbed every chest and closet and crate, nabbed all that was valuable within my sight. I stripped the place completely bare. It was better than my wildest dreams. An entire guild hall’s worth of treasure – just laying around, free for the taking. The tanto I carefully wrapped in a soft cloth and tucked in my bag when I found it. And when I had gathered up all that I could possibly carry and the hour was late, I teleported out of there as though I’d been nothing but a breath of wind.

Aengoth profusely apologized when I told him about the guard. He honestly hadn’t known about him, though the mages had known something of the Guild’s plans. It’s all a bit suspicious and I have to wonder if there is a mole in the Guild. As to who it might be, I have no idea. I’m the new blood here and don’t know much about Guild politics yet. I’ll just have to be extra careful where I step and keep an ear out for anything suspicious.

As for tomorrow, my next task is to locate a ceremonial Redoran Master Helm in the manor of one of the Councilors. It should be a good time, after the success of the last time I’d burgled a Redoran’s manor.

**5th Sun’s Dusk, Ald’ruhn, Ald Skar Inn**

By Azura, Mephala, Molag Bal, the whole host of daedra, Almsivi, Stendarr, Mara, Akatosh, Dibella and whoever the heck else claims some sort of divinity, I think I’ve outdone myself today. I’m a bit embarrassed by it, to be honest. What kind of a person scores that many hits in the space of a few hours or reads the mind of the boss that thoroughly that two jobs are already done before he even asks? It was ridiculous, but it happened.

I spent the morning creeping about Arobar Manor, poking my nose into things I oughtn’t, picking up whatever interested me while leisurely searching for the helm. At last, I located it, on top of a closet in the bedroom of Master Arobar himself. He and his wife were in the bedroom too, seated on a pile of cushions in their grand clothes, eating a breakfast of something that smelled wonderful and made my mouth water merely scenting it.

For a bit, I was unsure of how to proceed. I hid behind the screen that separated their bed from the rest of the room, thinking it over. They were awfully close to the helm. If I stretched and strained to get it from the top of the tall closet, they’d undoubtedly notice and bring down the law on my head. I’d have to be sneakier about it. Absentmindedly, I twirled Helsende’s ring around my thumb. It was just a little too big for me and I’d been wearing it on my thumb to prevent possible heartache if I should lose it. And then I had an idea. Slipping off my shoes so as to not track the dirt of Ald’ruhn all over the happy couple’s pillows, I climbed on top of the bed and made myself as small as possible in the furthest corner of the room. I was out of their line of sight. I cast the ring’s spell.

The helm came flying directly at me and for a second I was terrified that it would bowl me over and make a huge racket. But my hands reacted with far more efficiency than my mind and I caught it perfectly, like a child playing catch. It was an ugly thing, just like the other helm I’d stolen and sold some time ago, insectoid in appearance, covered in bizarre ridges and grooves. But, a client gets what a client wants.

Aengoth was pleased to receive it and after he’d paid me, immediately told me about another client who’d like some dirt on the Arobars, specifically one who was known to secretly worship Boethiah. My mouth agape, I pulled a book that I’d taken from the Arobar Manor just that morning from my bag and handed it to him. It was of a sort that I’d never seen before and thus, I picked it up while I was in. Laughing, he flipped through it and tossed me a few enchanted amulets, whispering that I shouldn’t tell anyone that I got them from him.

Seeing that I was looking for another job, he ran down his ledger and picked out another client, this one who wanted to secure a copy of the rare book “Withershins.” I almost fell to the floor for lack of air from laughing myself. I’d just stolen that very book from the Mages’ Guild yesterday. When I came back with it from my room, Aengoth paid me far more than it was worth and then gave me a very grave expression.

He did have another job for me, but it wasn’t one that was without danger. He’d recently secured some Dwemer spiders to act as guards for the Guild, but they were in severe need of repairs. Naturally, the adventurer who’d sold them to him had to hack them nearly to bits in order to preserve his own safety. This was where I come in. What I need to do is delve into a Dwemer ruin and bring back some scrap metal with which to repair the monsters. He advised that I don’t have to go in too deep, just get in and out when I have what we need.

I’m deathly terrified. Divines know I don’t like venturing outside of the civilized world all too often, where nothing is predictable and just about everything tries to kill you. I hate spending any length of time away from a warm bed and a cool tankard of sujamma. But I’ve also heard that ruins are a great source of valuable treasure and mysterious ancient technology that any mage worth his salt would pay dearly for. There’s a booming trade in illicit artifact sale, though I’ve had very little to do with it personally. This might be a great opportunity or it may very well be my neck. I'm not entirely certain that Aengoth isn't trying to kill me now, but why he'd do it at this point is beyond me.

**11th Sun’s Dusk, Ghostgate, Tower of Dusk**

It’s been an exceedingly pleasant couple of days, excepting the last one, but I’ll get to that later. For now, I’ll take a few depth breaths, keep to my corner and try to drown out the incessant prattling of my oh-so-undemanding charge.

The Dwemer scrap metal was astoundingly easy to get and all my worries of bronze automatons cleaving me to the bone were for nothing. I stopped at the Ald’ruhn alchemist to see if I couldn’t sell off a few mortars and pestles that I’d picked up in my spree in the Mages’ Guild and was flooded with relief to discover that she had quite a bit of scrap metal for sale. We conducted our business and I thanked her profusely, shaking her hand a little too vigorously before going on my way.

Aengoth paid me extremely well for the metal. After that, I felt like I’d earned a bit of a break. I spent a bit of time in Caldera spending my bounty training with a master sneak whom I’d met with on a previous visit there. He was a great companion in those long hours spent in the inn room, always laughing at my jokes and passing me his skooma pipe (I took a puff once, but didn’t much like it).

By night, I stole into homes and shops, making a great sport of what I could get away with in the use of my new skills. When my education came to an end and all my stolen goods were exchanged for cold coin, I lay back on the verdant hill outside the city, nibbling on a blade of grass and thought, “Why not walk back to Ald’ruhn?” The day was beautiful, the air smelt of flowers, the road beckoned to me and I’d seen so little of Morrowind since I’d arrived. I realized that I hardly knew a thing of Vvardenfell’s flora and fauna. It was all so bizarre and strange and unnerving. I’d been keeping myself busy for months in familiar-looking alleyways and seedy shops in order to stave off homesickness. It had been so long since I’d just laid back, relaxed and learned. I thought that if I stood still for just a moment, the homesickness would overtake me and wash me away. The longer I kept to familiar things, the longer I could pretend that I wasn’t miles away in a fiery, volcanic land populated by insects too massive to exist anywhere else.

But now, nearly four months into it, I think I’m finally coming to the realization that Morrowind _is_ home now, like it or not. And I’m surprisingly fine with that. There were friends I had in Cyrodiil that I’ll never see again due to my own foolishness. There were places that I loved and haunts that felt more like home than my literal home. But I can never go back there again. At least, not in this century. When the injured parties are dead and forgotten, maybe then can I return to the place of my youth at last.

I think that the Guild had quite a lot to do with it. They’d received me with an open arms when I was just a beggar wandering in to ask for directions. They’ve helped me grow and taught me what I needed to know to survive here. I’ve made so many new friends to stave off the loneliness.

Gods damn it.

Will she not shut her craw while I’m trying to wax sentimental?

There we go. Silence at last, if just for a minute.

“I’m not doing it tonight!” I had yelled from across the room at her, “We’ve made excellent time and if there’s one thing I absolutely won’t do, it’s walk through the Ghostgate in the dark!”

She took it as well as could be expected.

Her name is Viatrix Petilia and for tonight, we’re most unfortunately roommates. I met her on the road, on the way back to Ald’ruhn. She looked alone and lost, not to mention extremely wealthy. As I passed by, she called out to me, saying that she was on a pilgrimage to Ghostgate and if I’d escort her, she’d give me a tip. Still filled with the spirit of adventure, I thought “Why not?” and took the job.

It was an adventure just getting here. The road was thick with blighted creatures and filled with danger. Several times I had to heal some nasty-looking scrapes sustained in fights with diseased cliffracers or kagoutis, thank the Temple I’d thought to learn that spell months ago, back in Balmora. Viatrix merely complained about her dress being ruined and how a good bodyguard shouldn’t let that happen in the first place. I tuned her out and kept on. We were making record progress, though I didn’t quite know where I was going and was mainly relying on the occasional road sign stuck in the charred, cracked earth.

When I turned a bend and sighted the Ghostgate itself up ahead, I froze in my tracks, not knowing what it was and afraid to step any closer. Viatrix had a field day laughing at my naiveté and I wish I’d known what to expect if only to have been able to avoid amusing her, impossible as it would have been.

Once we got closer to it, my fear and loathing turned to wonder. It’s made of a beautiful blue glow that tingles when I touch it. The sound it makes vibrates in the depths of my ears and down to the soles of my feet. It gives me a headache if I stick around too long, though my curiosity tends to keep me near to dangerous things regardless.

Viatrix smiled genuinely, for the first time, upon reaching it. She looked down its length with the awe of a tourist and told me how the entire thing was a monument to devotion and steadfastness. Which were of course, things that a person like me couldn’t understand, she finished, reverting right back to her snobbish self.

But I have to agree with her on that, though I’ll never say it aloud. There’s so much that I don’t understand. I know so little of the history of the ground that I stand on or of the beliefs that run so deeply through the veins of its people. I know fear of the unknown well enough. I know of profit and caution. I pray when I’m afraid, without regard for creed, to whoever might be listening. But of the wider world, of spirits and ancestors, gods and daedra, I know next to nothing. I wonder why there is such a thing as a Ghostgate. I wonder how gods can walk and live among mortals in Morrowind. I wonder at what manner of life I’ve been thrust into in being dropped off here.

For tonight, I’ll merely get what sleep I can, seeing as how Viatrix claimed the room’s one bed for herself and insisted that I sleep on the floor. I’ve promised that I’ll get her to the shrine just inside the gates in the early morning. It shouldn’t be too bad of a journey, though I’ve no idea what to expect when I pass the threshold.

Storms rage beyond the gate constantly. Dust beats on the roof and walls of the tower and I can hear the building’s foundations shift with every gust. I’ve brought an old skirt which I’ll dampen with a bottle of water and wrap around my nose and mouth come morning, so I’ll at least be assured of breathing once I enter. But I don’t know how much protection that’ll be from the blight. I try not to worry about it. I remember that the tower’s right here, fully stocked with Temple healers who probably deal with that sort of thing all the time, if the worse should come to pass.

Perhaps I’ll pray at the indoor shrine before leaving anyway, though Viatrix will most likely hurry me along.

**12th Sun’s Dusk, Ald’ruhn, Temple**

Disaster. Total, utter, wordless, faithless, sickening disaster. My hands are still shaking as I write this, so much that I can hardly cross my Ts. I can’t believe I left her there. I can’t believe I failed so miserably.

I wonder if it’s blasphemous to cry into the ashes of the dead. Because I can’t stop doing it. They plop down into the pit, splashing down the ridges of dry skulls, making dark indentations in the gray remains.

I was afraid and I ran. My own life was in peril, so I left another to die. The moment the both of us crossed the threshold, we were greeted by a man in pale robes stinking of ash, with magic at his fingertips. I hurled myself at him, jamming my sword at his throat, slashing and hacking any part of him I could reach. His blood was the color of tar. It’s still staining my sword, which I dropped in disgust somewhere on Red Mountain.

He hurt me more than I could him and as my life drained away, my terror got the better of me. I used the scrolls I’d come to so thoroughly depend upon and found myself back in Ald’ruhn. A dust storm raged around me, stinging my open wounds, setting my eyes aflame. The sky was boiling red, the clouds like curdled milk. I gagged against the wet cloth around my throat and fell backwards into the temple.

It has to be the Blight. I’ve never seen such a violent storm before or a sky that tortured. I can hear the wind ripping the banners from their posts outside. I swear I can hear the individual grains of sand hitting the sturdy clay walls of the temple.

I have to go back out there. I have to find her. I have to know if she’s all right. I have to sneak up on that… _thing_ and slit its throat, if it has one.

I’m feeling a little better now. My healing magic has kicked in and fixed me up at last. I’ll need spells and potions. I’ll need a new sword or a set of throwing stars. I need to pray for forgiveness and strength. And I need to get moving now.

I really do know nothing of devotion.

**13th Sun’s Dusk, Ghostgate, Tower of Dusk**

She’s dead.

I found her corpse lying in the sand yesterday, half-buried by the storm. Her tattered silk blew like the petals of faded flowers in the harsh wind. I crawled up to her though the wind beat me back, though the dust clogged my eyes, wary and fearful of what might be watching us. I brushed a strand of hair from her still face and tried to dig her out, but dropped her immediately when I saw the horrific marks on the buried side of her body. Skin peeled away from bone. Terrific boils growing from her flesh. Marks of fingernails running down the sides of her neck.

I sighed, choked back a sob and turned to leave.

And then I saw him.

He crouched in the shadow of the gate, his pale robe whipping around him, his bare limbs spindly and grotesque. Hot fury boiled up from my stomach and stung the back of my throat. My jaw clenched and the only thought in my head was to see him burn.

I let him have it, launching the fiery doom that I’d bought from an enchanter in town, hearing him shriek as it seared his pitted flesh. I hit him again and again, intense pleasure flooding my body with every screech, hardly feeling his own blows to me until the edges of my vision went dark and the world turned upside down.

I was told that an Armiger dragged me in. She’d been on patrol when she’d sighted my torn body sticking up out of the dust, nearly buried myself. It had taken some daring, but she’d driven back the ash ghoul, as she called it and dragged me back inside.

The Temple healers had saved my life and now they berate me for my foolishness. I vomit up everything I try to eat. I can’t walk very far without finding myself flat on my face. Everything aches and my limbs weigh must weigh ten thousand pounds apiece. I don’t know what I’m going to do.

I’m a murderer three times over now. How can anyone ever forgive me? How can I forget what I’ve done? How can I not be haunted by the faces of those I’ve killed?

I swear I can hear the sound of the Ghostgate in my dreams, humming through the floor, rattling my teeth, leeching the warmth from my bones.

**14th Sun’s Dusk, Ald’ruhn, Guard Tower I**

This is it. I’ve made my way back to Ald’ruhn in one piece through a raging storm, packed my things and said my goodbyes. In minutes, I leave for parts hitherto unseen and unknown to me. I don’t relish going back out into the dust and my palms are sweaty with fear, but I’m committed now.

I returned to the Rat in the Pot somewhat bashfully, unsure of how to say what I was going to say and not even entirely sure if I could get up the courage to say it. The Dwemer spider in the front hall distracted me tidily from my qualms. It was just so totally unexpected, though I know that it was my hand who put it there. I smiled at its funny antics, its spindly legs and bulbous body, the way it crept about so delicately, like a thief itself.

After I’d spent enough time dallying with it, reality set in again and I knew I had to accomplish the task I’d gone in there for. I crept down the stairs to Aengoth and found him fiddling with a tiny lockbox, trying to pry its mechanism open with a lockpick no thicker than a hair.

“Uh…” I said, all the blood in my body rushing to my face.

He looked up, ceasing his work, his fatherly bearded visage suddenly lined with worry, a flicker of suspicion in his chestnut eyes.

“I’m going to be leaving for a while.” I whispered in a low monotone, “Perhaps a long while. I don’t know if I’ll ever be returning.”

At that moment a bolt of pain fired from the space behind my eyes and I grabbed my forehead in agony, waiting for it to pass. When I next opened my eyes, I saw Aengoth staring dead at me, fear and anxiety in his gaze. He looked sad and hurt, as though he’d been betrayed or lost something vital. Then he pulled his curly hair back from his forehead, grinned and shook my hand warmly. He thanked me for all the time I’d spent with the Guild, the services I’d done and the goals I’d accomplished. He said that he’d sincerely miss me and was truly grateful for the time that we had spent working together.

Tongue-tied, I mumbled my goodbyes and speedily got out of there, where the raging sand could blast the mistiness from my eyes.

Outside the door of this tower, the road lies before me. I’ve walked it before and know the way, but I’ve never followed it to the end I’m reaching now. I don’t know what I’ll find when I make it there, back to Balmora. I don’t know if I’ll be accepted or if I can ever atone for what I’ve done.

But the walk there I’m going to enjoy, however perversely. Maybe the sand will smooth away all the bad parts of my being on my journey back home. I wonder if there’ll be anything left by the end.

**15th Sun’s Dusk, Balmora, Temple**

I’ve done it. Already I feel the burden of sin lessening, though my soul still groans at what I’ve done. It wasn’t an easy thing to do and the other initiates, knowing that I was once a thief, don’t seem to trust me within an inch of their belongings. When they saw me stumble into the dormitory, there was a quiet but present uproar as they set about locking their valuables away and stashing their fortunes in secret corners. I can’t blame them for that, though the sideways glances and displeased sneers hurt me. It isn’t every day that a Thieves’ Guild Captain becomes a layman.

This morning I outran the storm, though the winds battered me and the flying sand rubbed my bare knuckles raw. It felt good to run, to be alone with the elements. All there was, was the pounding of my own footsteps on the cracked earth and the moaning of the wind as it swept the desert. It gave me time to think and the exercise felt good after having been bedridden for days. I strolled through the gates of Balmora near dusk, ate a quick supper, though my stomach was uneasy, swallowed my fear and headed up the steps to the Temple, my fists clenched at my sides.

Feldrelo Sadri, the priestess of this temple, was where she always was, where I had first met her many months ago and poured out my troubles on her listening ear. I didn’t know if she’d remember me or if she’d recall the offer she had made when I first darkened her doorstep. But I found myself trusting her implicitly, as I had when we’d first met. I walked up to her, breathing heavily. She looked up at me with a start, worry lining her features. I think I may have been a little pale or possibly quite green.

“I’m a thbbb…” I said, sputtering, unable to make my tongue form the word.

“A what?” she asked, sincerely confused.

“A thief!” I hissed under my breath, finally spitting it out, perhaps a bit more loudly than I’d intended, “A-And a murderer. I…I want to change.”

I braced myself as though for a blow, thinking for certain that she’d bring the local garrison down on my head. It was just as frightening when I found her arms wrapped around me.

She was overjoyed. She greeted me as a daughter, welcoming me with open arms into the fellowship and listening to my troubles as she had in the past. I couldn’t tell her everything – not about Ondres Nerano, as the murder was so recent and Sugar-Lips had protected me from the charges. But about Viatrix I gave her the whole story. I told her about how, it seems so long ago now, I’d broken into a shop of rare collectibles in Imperial City and midway through the raid, had found the owner of the shop awake and angry. He’d stumbled into me on his way to a midnight bathroom break, saw my pack of valuables and taken the law into his own hands. In terror for my life and livelihood, I’d unthinkingly stabbed him. He was an old man and one hit had taken him down. Bleeding profusely, he’d gripped the front of my shirt as he went down, smearing his life all down my clothes. I was afraid and with the bloody blade in my hand, I’d bolted, bumping directly into a night guard patrolling just outside.

The shop owner cane from a rich and influential family. They were heartbroken and enraged over his death and did everything in their power to lock me up until my own passing should occur, perhaps centuries in the future. I hadn’t expected to ever see the sun again. I didn’t know why I’d been let loose or dropped off in Morrowind. I told her that I’d been wandering without purpose, without goals beyond staying alive and profiting off of the gains of others. I knew nothing of faith, nothing of devotion or love or honor. I was naught but a ship that had lost its anchor and torn its sails asunder, drifting aimlessly in the open sea as its wailing crew starved to death.

She listened, nodding sadly. And then she handed me a book. She said that if I wished to learn, if I wished to repent, I ought to go on pilgrimage. I would have to go it alone and on foot, crawling if need be through ash and rain, wind and lightening. But by the end of it, I will have learned something of the gods and of myself and hopefully grown stronger in the faith.

There’s so much I have to get together before I go. Food, tools, scrolls, donations for all the shrines I’ll be visiting. I’m excited and fearful of what’s to come. To complete my pilgrimage, I’ll have to return to Ghostgate and reach the shrine that Viatrix never made it to. I’ll have to fight my way past untamed dreugh. I’ll have to trek through barren landscapes and brave the elements like I never have before. Maybe, through hardship and travel, I’ll find what’s been missing from my life and a way to right the wrongs that I’ve done.

**18th Sun’s Dusk, Balmora**

At last, everything is set to go and I stand on the threshold of the city ready to depart. All my donations are in order, I’ve trained hard to reach this point, I have a good supply of food for the road, plenty of scrolls to whisk me away should I get into trouble and I’ve dressed myself simply in only the weathered garb required of a pilgrim. I’m terribly nervous about it all and feel nearly naked without some armor at least.

Hopefully today’s journey should be a short one, provided that I don’t run into any hostile wildlife on the road. I should be able to make it to Suran by nightfall and find a bed for rent there. In the morning, I’ll find the Fields of Kummu, where, the guide said, Lord Vivec helped a lowly farmer work his fields.

Here goes. Everything else is behind me now – the guild, the murders, Ghostgate, everything awful I’ve ever done in my life.

I move my toe an inch forward and find myself reborn.

**19th Sun’s Dusk, Suran**

Things did not going according to plan, but that I’m perfectly fine with. I stumbled upon the Fields of Kummu Shrine as I picked my way around the verdant countryside, finding it completely on accident. It was a humble thing, surrounded by common field flowers, with nothing but the shimmer of the lake to serve as its backdrop. I knelt down, pulling out the little sachet of muck that I’d been carrying in my pocket and laid it at its base.

I didn’t know what I expected to happen. But not much did. A cool wind swept the sweat from my brow. I heard the sound of waves lapping on the shore below. I tried to think about Humility, but didn’t quite know where to start. I had no idea what I was doing here.

Sighing, my thoughts turned to more practical things. It was nearing sunset and I still hadn’t made it to Suran. I’d have to find a place to sleep before it was too late in the evening and I was deathly scared of sleeping out in the wilderness, having never been one for camping trips.

I carried on a little ways down the road until I met another traveler, a distressed-looking Bosmer. It had been a few hours since I’d seen another person and I stopped to ask him if I was heading in the right direction. Instead, he told me of his troubles, how he and his friend had been walking to Vivec together when they’d gotten separated. That was hours ago and now he feared the worst. The friend in question was of quite a scholarly disposition and had gone off to investigate some natural phenomena. Moreover, this wasn’t the first time that his curiosity had gotten him in trouble.

I smiled gently, laying aside my troubles and offering to help. Someone might as well get some use out of this day, if it wasn’t going to be me. I crept up a nearby hill, hoping to gain some clues and my heart nearly stopped as a toothy kagouti came charging down at me.

I was caught, unprotected and barely armed with a wild animal bearing down on top of me. Sucking in my breath, I drew my sword and defended myself. His teeth did a number on my shoulder and I was panting with effort by the end of the fight, but he lay at my feet at last. Grunting, I healed myself and ripped the bloodied sleeve from my robe. Being exceedingly cautious this time, I crawled, belly-down, the rest of the way up, sighting another kagouti dead ahead of me. There was something at his feet, angular and not of the natural world. Keeping calm, I crept up behind him and stabbed him in the back before he had a chance to react. Picking up my prize, I found that it was a tattered notebook of research notes. The owner had to be close. And soon enough, I found him.

He was a spindly Dunmer in ragged-looking silks who had wedged himself high above the ground between two overhanging boulders. He was very thankful to be able to use me as a pillow to land on. On the way down the road to his friend he prattled on about the mating habits of the kagouti he’d stopped to study, fascinated by them even as they’d become violent toward his research methods.

The two of them were overjoyed to meet again and the Bosmer took an enchanted amulet from around his neck and handed it to me. I thanked him profusely, shocked by his act of kindness. My pockets had been dangerously close to empty and seeing how thieving is not something a Temple layman should be engaging in, I wasn’t sure how I was going to go about getting more money.

In fact, I was humbled by it. When both of us were in need, he was the one who had ended up helping me. As the sun set, we shook hands and split paths on good terms. I hiked for a long while beneath the stars, striving through the darkness, trying to forget my worry and weariness. When I was nearly asleep on my feet, I stumbled upon a large plantation with a ramshackle slave shack on the edge of the fields. A slave saw me skulking around the edges of the fields and putting a finger to his furry lips, directed me inside. Suspicious even in my lethargy, I crept inside.

The shack was a mess – trash all over the floor, bedrolls laid out haphazardly in the dirt. The slave said that he had heard of what had happened in Caldera. Every slave in the company was just up and gone one morning and only a passing shadow had been seen fleeing the scene in the rain the night before. The slaves themselves had described the shadow quite differently however. It couldn’t possibly be anyone familiar, now could it?

I laughed uneasily at his question, trying hard not to step on something disgusting and he only grinned cattishly, pointing me to an empty bedroll in the far corner. I spent the night there, having a far better sleep than I thought I’d get and leaving with the sunrise before the slavemaster awoke to find me there.

As it turned out, Suran was just down the road and its gates appeared before me as I turned a bend. As I also discovered, it was not nearly as hospitable as the decrepit slave shack that I’d spent the night in. The very streets are filled with moonsugar and prostitution here. There’s corruption around every corner, a bottle of skooma on every table and the first thing I ran into upon entering town was a slave market. The old roguishness still running strong in me, I crept inside to see if anything could be done. There was a key on the master of the house, but when I tried to take it, he felt my hand in his pocket and went at me with his fists in fury. I darted through the front door, slamming it behind me and leaning on it heavily, as I heard him shrieking curses at me from behind the barricade.

I slipped off into an alleyway and here I am. I can’t stay here. They’re bound to find me eventually if I stick around too long and besides, there’s no beds for rent in town. I think I should head for Vivec while I can, comfort be damned.

**20th Sun’s Dusk, Vivec, Library of Vivec**

I had a wretched night. Well, not so much a night now as an early morning that went on and on. The journey started out promising enough. After a day of wandering through the various verdant plantations on the lakeside, I finally located the road to Vivec and went on my way with the glittering stars above as my guide. Nearing midnight, I ran into another traveler on the road, a trader of fine clothing and his pack guar heading in the same direction. I greeted him cordially and stopped for a bit of a chat. When I turned to leave, he waved his arms frantically, asking if we could travel together, as he’d heard that the road to Vivec had become a bit dangerous as of late.

I cringed at the thought, thinking back on how well the last time I’d escorted anyone anywhere had gone. Seeing my hesitation, he immediately offered me money should I walk with him. I refused him repeatedly, but since we were heading in the same direction anyway, it was impossible to lose him. Sighing heavily and knowing I could use the money, I gave in.

I think the old man just wanted someone to talk to. He went on and on about his loveable guar and the injustice of it all that he wasn’t allowed into the city when he’s such a polite and well-behaved beast. By the end of the journey, I couldn’t help but smile at Rollie the Guar and give him a pat on the head when we had to leave him behind at the gates of Vivec.

The clink of gold in my palm pleased me even more. He waved goodbye as the two of us parted on good terms. I went off to see if I couldn’t find a bed to fall into.

This was where I ran into trouble. By now it was the very early morning and every door in the city was locked up tight. Furthermore, Vivec is a maze. I’d passed by the city numerous times on my way to other places, but this was the first time I’d actually set foot in the place itself.

I spent the night wandering about the cantons, in a waking nightmare of tight hallways, dark corridors and endless walls of clay. Every door I knocked on contained unfriendly company and rude remarks. I felt the eyes of the city guards watching my every move through the stern eyeholes of their bronze helms.

In the daylight, I can’t blame them for that now. I must look like a filthy vagabond, what with my travel-stained, one-sleeved robe and the muck on my feet from one too many shortcuts through freshly-plowed fields.

By sunrise, I must’ve been one of the walking dead, blearily going through the motions without any real force behind my actions. Of all people, an Ordinator took pity on me and gave me his bed in the barracks to respite on. I don’t feel entirely comfortable staying here and sleeping in another man’s bed, though I was grateful for the rest. There’s got to be somewhere else to stay in this city. How could there not be, what with so many shrines about for passing pilgrims to visit?

I’ve got plenty of time to continue my search. That much I do know. Now that the sun is setting again, just after I’d awoken, my entire sleep schedule is turned around. I’m wide awake and energetic as the shadows grow and not entirely sure of what to do with myself in the meantime. Perhaps a midnight visit to the Shrine of Daring would be in order. I certainly don’t have the presence of mind to go trifling with a Telvanni wizard at this hour.

That was another adventure that I thought I’d dreamed in the night. But when I woke up, I found that the gold was still in my pocket and figured that it had to have been real. While I wandered about the cantons, half-dead with sleeplessness, dimly knocking on doors, a voice coming from empty air gave me the scare of my life. I very nearly fell over when I heard it whispering directly in my ear and smelled the distinct stench of scuttle on its breath. It said that its owner had been turned invisible by a wizard and that no one would help him, thinking him to be a spirit or a ghost.

“So could you please tell my father that I’m all right?” he finished in wheedling tones, spewing his stink-breath from Azura-knows-where.

I was close to walking away. I didn’t quite believe him myself and had bigger problems on my mind, at least to me. But his father’s shop was right in front of me and I had the vain hope that he might let me crash in his home. No such offer was made, though he paid me a handful of coin for the news. The bags under my eyes steadily darkening, I began to move on.

He followed me, breathing down the back of my neck, begging for more help, pleading with me to confront the wizard who’d done this to him. I eventually ended up shouting at the patch of empty air in front of a crowd of people just waking up and taking their morning strolls.

I promised I’d help him, though it was just to get him away from me for the moment. However, I didn’t say when I’d do it. He can certainly wait a little longer.

**21st Sun’s Dusk, Vivec, Foreign Quarter, Black Shalk Cornerclub**

I spent the entire day running about the city looking for a smith, as I’d found my shield and weapons in bad need of repair after the beating they’d taken from the wildlife I’d encountered on the journey here. I darted back and forth, from the High Fane to the Foreign Quarter and back again, only to discover at the end of the day, as I slunk back to the Foreign Quarter, that the services I’d been seeking had been right where I had started. At least I’ll know where to head come morning.

The good news is that I did find a cornerclub that rents beds. It doesn’t seem terribly reputable, contains a lot of rough customers and its level of hygiene leaves something to be desired. But it’s thousands of times better than the temple I stumbled upon today. The priest was kind enough and offered one of the dormitory beds to me. It seemed like a comfortable place until I discovered the rats.

The temple is plagued by them, all diseased, all shedding fur in haphazard patches, all nibbling on the bones of the dead. Suffice to say that I got out of there rather quickly before one of them could give me a nasty bite. By contrast the Black Shalk seems like a great place now and I’m eternally grateful that it exists.

However, the last day hasn’t been a total waste. Last night I dared the Shrine of Daring. It was magnificent thing, surrounded by flowers that glowed in the moonlight, commemorating Lord Vivec’s mastery over the moon itself. I left my offering and said a little prayer, as I’d been instructed to do, though I stumbled over the words and fumbled up the ending.

As soon as I’d finished, I felt a lightness coming over me. It was a feeling similar to that which I’d experienced after drinking too much flin. I thought I was going to faint, but when I took a step to the side to avoid fainting on the shrine, I found my foot standing perfectly steady on a patch of nothing at all. I took another step and bit by bit, walked into the sky. I flew around the tops of all the cantons, laughing in pure glee and wonder, flying beside the moons and stars themselves in their velvet settings.

It was amazing to see Vivec from above. The homely cantons that I’d come to hate so much looked so much grander from the night sky, immense and glorious, a monument to ingenuity.

I came in for a landing in the Foreign Quarter and fell asleep hovering inches above my bed. When I awoke, the spell was broken and I thought I’d dreamed it, as I’d dreamed so many things in recent days. But there was an odd bounce in my step come morning and a lightness in my heart that I haven’t replicated before or since and I knew that it had to have happened.

**22nd Sun’s Dusk, Vivec, Palace of Vivec**

It’s amazing to think that right beyond this door is one gifted with immortality. I’m almost tempted to fiddle with the lock on it and see if I can’t disarm the trap. I miss playing with locks – twisting the pick this way and that until I find the sweet spot and satiate my curiosity about what’s behind it. I even popped the lock of a chest in the cornerclub last night just to see if I could still do it. To my joy, I saw that I could and I flipped the lid open triumphantly. There was a small pile of gold inside, gleaming darkly in the dim room. My heart sinking, I slowly closed the lid without taking anything.

It wasn’t put there for me. And I can do without.

As for meeting Lord Vivec, I’m not sure if I would want to do something like that. What on earth would I say to him? What could one ask of a god? There’s a lock here that’s a challenge when I lay my eyes on it, but I’ve no idea what to do with the treasure beyond the door. Perhaps I will meet him someday, when I’ve proven myself worthy and gained a thousandfold more faith than I now possess.

At any rate, that’s another shrine down. It hurt me a little to lay down so much gold at the Shrine of Generosity, but now that it’s gone, I do feel better for having come here.

Tomorrow I’ll head to the first shrine that I’m genuinely afraid of – the Shrine of Courtesy. It’s in the center of a maze below Vivec’s Palace, guarded by a dremora and built to test the faithfulness of Temple devotees. I’m to present the daedra with a silver longsword when I reach him in order to complete the pilgrimage. I’m not sure what to expect in the winding canals, but I fear what I’ll meet below the ground and getting lost once more in another nightmare of endless hallways.

But that’ll be tomorrow’s problem. For today, I’ll track down that smith at last, stock up on food, should I be lost for days and perhaps even find out if I can’t put that cursed, smelly fellow out of his misery at last.

**22nd Sun’s Dusk, Vivec, Foreign Quarter, Black Shalk Cornerclub**

I’ve just had what must be among the most ridiculous encounters I’ve ever had in my life. I tracked down the wizard who had cursed my invisible friend and asked him why he’d done it. I was told that the foolish boy had asked him to do it because he just wanted people to leave him alone. He hadn’t even paid the wizard for the service as he’d agreed and until he pays his debt, he isn’t going to remove the spell. Solemnly shaking my head, I walked through the indoor mushroom garden of the Telvanni Compound and headed back to Saint Delyn’s to pass along the news.

It took some searching, but eventually I managed to bump into an invisible obstacle and assumed that I’d found the person I was looking for. I couldn’t see his face as I berated him for his short memory and lack of foresight, but I’m sure I heard a muffled sob from his general direction. He chased me down the stairs and out into the open air, begging me to pay it for him. It hurt to hear him crying behind me and I wanted to relent, to help him get his life back. But the truth of the matter was that I simply didn’t have the money. I took a deep breath of scuttle-scented air and kept walking, not looking back once.

The smith that I came to for repair yielded a sort of disappointment too. As he was polishing my blades and hammering my shield back into shape, he chatted about the rival smith down the block. He’d heard that he gotten a huge order, bigger than what he sells in a month. There had to be some shady business behind that and he’d heard something about a traveling Thieves’ Guild Captain in the area, if perhaps that person might wish to help him out?

I wanted to do it badly. The excitement, the sneaking, the thrill of sticky fingers. He most likely would have paid me too, which I could have used badly, as I’m beginning to get to the bottom of my purse. But I swallowed thickly and told him no. I wasn’t in the market for work today. Today, I was nothing but a simple pilgrim.

He understood, harboring no hard feelings before finishing his work and sending me on my way with a wave.

I can’t wait to finally be finished with this city. I feel trapped here, as its residents seem trapped themselves, in bad deals or bad luck. For once, I’ll be so happy to be on the road again and leaving civilization behind.

**24th Sun’s Dusk, Ebonheart, The Six Fishes**

It’s as though a nix-hound is continually sitting on my chest. The feeling is really quite amazing, like I’m being artfully crushed between two stone slabs that stay in place even as I’m moving about. But the hound seems to be departing for longer and longer periods now. I think he’s about done with me.

For, you see, yesterday I died.

I spent hours running about the Puzzle Canal, swimming through icy water, dashing down murky corridors, grappling with diseased rodents, being turned around and around and around. And then I found it – the tight, slime-filled tunnel that led to the center of the maze. Shivering, I held my breath and dove down it.

The center of the puzzle was grand, dark and dank. I crawled from the water’s edge to the platform in the center of the room, stumbling up the steps, my teeth chattering. There was a plaque on the border of the platform. Faltering over to it, I read the words “ _Breathe the Waters of His Glory and the Way is Made Clear_.”

I half-fell, half-sat on the cold stone and rubbed my pounding head. There was nowhere else to go – no doors or passageways to guide me to deeper rooms. Only the serene, frigid water with my own face reflected right back at me in it. I tried jogging in a circle to see if it couldn’t warm me up a little bit. And I pondered what to do.

The message was cryptic but clear. I knew what I had to do, deep inside me, but I didn’t want to do it. I didn’t know if I could trust it, if my weak faith could carry me through.

It may have been the chill of the water, the silence of the canal, the passing of the hours, but in time I felt a sort of peacefulness come over me. It was the peace of the condemned criminal who knows that nothing he can do will save his life. I slipped back into the water, one step at a time, until the canal was at my throat. Squeezing my eyes shut, I dove under.

I heard voices in my head as my life drained away, of friends and enemies, lovers and beasts. I heard singing and crying as I let loose my last breath of air and let go. Darkness, deeper than the night sky, blacker than a thief’s heart took me then, until I heard a great rumbling from deep inside the ground.

When I opened my eyes, I was clinging to the stone steps as though my life depended on it, my bloody fingernails nearly torn out with scratches they'd tried to put into the stone. Shaking, I dragged myself the rest of the way out and noted the newly-formed bridge above me with a start.

The shrine was at the other end of it, with the dremora standing guard beside it. Coughing, I stumbled over to him, shakily drew the silver longsword from my pack, knelt before him and offered it. He took it with a smirk, reciting his lines of courtesy dispassionately and pointing me towards the shrine. I prayed harder than I’d ever prayed before, in thankfulness, in amazement that I was still alive and had made it to the other end. The dremora rolled his eyes and complained that all these pilgrims are a bit over-dramatic.

Shaking my head and slowly backing away, I leapt back into the water to swim myself home. As the canal washed me back outside, I found that I could breathe water as I had when I had "drowned." I swam out into the harbor, keeping below the surface of the water and looking up in wonder at the sunlight glinting down on me from above. Seeing a few ships floating in the tide ahead, I swam ahead to see what they might be.

To my great shock, I discovered that I’d swum straight through to Ebonheart. At that moment, thunder boomed ahead and rain began pouring from the sky, drenching me further than I knew was possible. I was shivering uncontrollably by the time I managed to pull myself out of the water and drag myself into town. I coughed up quite a bit of water on the pavement and slammed my soggy money down in a puddle on the counter of the nearest inn.

I’ve been recovering ever since. And yet, despite everything that happened, the pain and struggle that I’ve been through, the inescapable taste of both canal and seawater in my mouth, I can’t believe how glad I am to have done it all and learned what there was to learn.

**26th Sun’s Dusk, Ald’ruhn**

I walked all the way from Ebonheart to Ald’ruhn yesterday. Not a bad day’s trip, if I do say so myself. Though I did get an extremely early start and stopped for precious little except a few bites of meat, a little weapon repair and the sale of a few unneeded items to fill my massively depleted pockets. The speed also wasn’t entirely my doing either – I just wanted to get out of the rain as quickly as I could. The only way I could keep warm was to keep moving. Thunder boomed and lightening flashed all the way to the outskirts of Ald’ruhn, startling me into near deafness at times.

I was soaked to the bone and crabbier than a mudcrab. Along the way, I met a traveling trader who was in need of an escort and while the money did sound good, we just weren’t heading in the same direction. I’m ashamed to say that I snapped at her rather more rudely than was necessary before I went on my way. A little further along I met a luckier trader who merely asked me to deliver his goods to Ald’ruhn. He seemed a bit shifty and made me swear an oath to Zenithar, as though that would mean much to an initiate of the Temple, before handing over his goods. Or perhaps I’m just bad at judging the motives of Argonians. At any rate, I agreed to carry his load of fine shirts with me, as I was thinking of spending the night in Ald’ruhn anyway. He thanked me with a friendly hiss and reminded me that oaths to Zenithar are not to be taken lightly, before he skittered off again.

And so I went on, through sheets of blinding rain, bumping into all sorts of hostile creatures under the darkening sky, by now thoroughly tired of marching through the pouring rain and ankle-deep flash-flooding of the desert. At the moment when I’d had far more than enough and was about to give in to senseless rage, the rain stopped. I stopped walking with it, shocked into stillness by the sudden cessation of precipitation.

That was when the dust storm started. 

I arrived in Ald’ruhn soaked down to every fiber of my being, utterly caked in mud, with a good pound of dust clogged in my throat and even more crabby than I’d ever been before. I was wise enough to keep my mouth shut this time, merely paying for my room, shedding my wet clothes and falling into bed without offending anyone (besides the cleaning lady, that is).

And I haven’t even gotten to the highwayman yet. It seems so long ago that I met him in the very early morning outside Vivec, just barely after I’d woken up and dragged myself up the road north. He sprang out of a bush and I just stood there, staring dumbly, too tired to be scared.

Grinning a toothy grin, he grabbed my hand and gently lifted it to his lips, praising my beauty all the way. He told me that he wouldn’t rob someone so lovely as me and that the only thing he wished to steal was a kiss from so fair a maiden. Several thoughts crossed my weary mind at that moment.

1\. I am no maid.  
2\. I’ve been wearing hideous rags for days.  
3\. No one who hangs out in bushes at three in the morning ever means well.

I took my hand back and slapped him with it before turning my back and walking on. That seemed to excite him more than anything and he yelled after me that if I ever needed his gentlemanly presence, he’d be in Pelagiad. I turned around for a moment to spit in his general direction.

It sounds silly and I’m glad that I got away from the encounter without any injury, but I can’t stop thinking about him. He’s a fool and a lecher, but his boldness is something to be talked about.

But today I’m leaving him far behind. I’ve made my delivery and received my payment with no trouble at all. When the shops open in a minute, I’ll pawn these hides, get another scratch buffed out of my sword and be on my way to Gnisis.

**27th Sun’s Dusk, Gnisis, Temple**

I had a far more harrowing trip than I’d planned on today. It seemed as though all of nature was out to get me. Cliff racers flying in from everywhere, nix-hounds tracking people down the road, kagoutis cornering me in the worst places. I don’t know what it was. Did they like the smell of me? Or is it mating season and I’m simply not aware of it?

Just outside of Gnisis, I got in a terribly tight spot – two kagoutis and a racer came out of nowhere to bear down on me, all three of them tearing at my flesh, as my weapon cracked on their scaly hides and my shield crumpled into uselessness. My reserves of magicka were running low, my energy was drained and I knew my life was running out. Frantically, I tried to cast a healing spell, though I knew that I couldn’t summon the energy. Knowing that my life was running out, to a pack of animals, of all things, I frantically dove away, plunging a hand into my bag for any kind of scroll to use.

My hand brushed something entirely different – a glass vial. It was a health potion that Sugar-Lips had given me so long ago in payment for a job well-done. Before they could get to me again, I ripped out its cork with my teeth and drained its contents. Scarcely able to believe it, I summoned the last little bit of strength I had and dispatched the remainder of the beasts without getting so much as another scratch. I stood over their lifeless corpses, panting, sweat pouring down my back as the sun set. Then I went on as though nothing had happened, slightly dazed. Sugar-Lips had protected me again, the loveable guild-mother. I miss her badly. I don’t even recall the last time we spoke. Was it before I left for Sadrith Mora, all the way back then? When I come back to Balmora, I’ve got to stop in for a visit, provided no one from the temple’s watching.

I wonder if she’ll be disappointed in me, at the path I’ve chosen. I wonder if she could understand.

At any rate, at least I wasn’t the worst-off person I met today. Just outside of Ald’ruhn, I ran into a frantic, haggard-looking woman who told me that her and her husband had been separated by a pack of wild nix-hounds. They’d attacked them on the road and he’d run off, to throw them off the scent of his wife. He hadn’t come back since.

I couldn’t just walk off, though I was in a rush to get to where I was going. Creeping up the bank of the dune she said he’d run over, I peered down and saw the problem, exactly as she’d described. Nix-hounds, down below. One by one, I took them down, carefully slitting their bellies while they were unaware. When they were all dead, I looked about, calling for the lost husband with my hands cupped around my mouth.

The wind carried no answer back to me. I rubbed my head and decided to try further down the road, fearing the worst and afraid to find out for myself.

At that moment, I heard a faint cry on the breeze. My ears pricked up and I dashed towards it, clambering up the hill on my hands and knees. And there he was. He was bloody and bruised, wedged between rocks and alive. Chortling gleefully and unable to stop, I healed him, took his shaking hand and led him back to his wife.

I watched them run to one another when their eyes met and embrace in the midst of the flying desert dust. They thanked me profusely, handing me a book that had meant a lot to them. Smiling, I tucked it away in my pack, slung it over my shoulder and carried on.

I didn’t want to hang around too long. They might have seen my jealousy. A pang of loneliness hit me right in the gut upon seeing their reunion. I’d wished that I was home again, where I was born and had spent most of my life, up until now. I’d thought I was over all that. But now I do wonder if it ever is possible to forget that sort of thing.

I made it to the Shrine of Justice and the Mask of Vivec by the end of the day to pay my respects. The Temple generously gave me a bed to rest on in comfortable quarters. It’s late now and I’ve had a long walk. It’s as though stones are attached my eyelids.


End file.
